Alex Rider--Secret Weapon Page 10
Alex wasn’t sure what to say—and the less said the better. He had, after all, the voice of a fourteen-year-old boy. “Sir Frederick?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s time to go.”
“I see . . .”
The banker got up. He pushed past Alex and emerged into the corridor, where Sykes was waiting. It took him only a few seconds to assess the situation. One guard unconscious, the other being held at gunpoint. He nodded briefly. “You’ve come for me,” he said.
“That’s right, Sir Frederick,” Sykes said. He stepped forward and spoke a few words into the banker’s ear, talking quietly so that only the two of them could hear.
Meadows nodded. “Right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
The Colonel gave a signal and Danny led Travis into the cell that the banker had just left. Gareth and Khyber followed, carrying the unconscious guard. Once the two security men were inside, Alex closed the door and locked it, still doing his best to keep his face turned away. Unlike the others, he had no surgical mask. Sir Frederick was standing beside Sykes, waiting patiently, and Alex wondered how the two of them had managed to organize all this. How had they even communicated? Another question occurred to him. When this was all over, how much would Colonel Sykes and his men be paid?
They were already making their way back to street level, the Colonel first, the banker beside him. Nobody challenged them. As they reached the entrance hall, a policeman rushed toward them and for a brief moment Alex thought they were going to be stopped. But the policeman hadn’t even seen them. He was making for a toilet. Alex heard the door slam and the sound of retching from the other side.
The ambulance was exactly where they had left it, waiting in the street with Charlie behind the wheel. This time, Alex and Khyber sat in the front. Sir Frederick was loaded into the back with the Colonel, Gareth, and Danny. As they set off, Charlie turned to Alex.
“All okay, Sarko?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Alex muttered the single word without looking up. It was the last thing he wanted—a conversation. Fortunately, Charlie turned on the siren a moment later, drowning out any sound the two of them might have made.
The roads of London were still jammed. If anything, they had gotten even worse in the last ten or twenty minutes. Ahead of them, Holborn Viaduct was an unmoving wall of traffic. There were still sirens going off everywhere. But everything had been planned down to the last detail and they didn’t have far to go. Charlie steered the ambulance through a series of backstreets, heading toward St. Paul’s. Alex had a front-row seat and saw them dipping down between a series of office buildings, which suddenly parted to reveal the wide expanse of the River Thames. They had been driving for less than five minutes, but he saw that they had arrived. Across the river, the Tate Gallery—once a power station—stood out against a clear blue sky. The Millennium Bridge, silver and slender, curved across the water. Charlie stopped the ambulance and they all climbed out, Alex feeling more exposed than ever in the bright, open air. Any minute now, someone would surely see through his disguise and realize that the real Sarko had been left behind. And what would he do when the moment came to remove the wig and shaded glasses?
“This way, Sir Frederick,” the Colonel said.
He led the banker down to the water’s edge. And here was the final phase of the operation, a ship moored at a private jetty. It was a sixty-foot white motor cruiser with a luxurious drawing room and dining area opening onto the back deck. A wide staircase led down to a lower area. There could have been half a dozen bedrooms below. The ship was called Phantom Lady, and Alex noticed that it was equipped with a sophisticated satellite dish and radio mast. Every part of the plan had been thought through. The roads might be snarled up, but the river wasn’t. They could transport the banker past Greenwich and out to sea. Before the sun had set, he would be abroad—in Holland, Belgium, or France. And the next day, presumably with a false passport, he would be on his way to anywhere in the world.
The fake paramedics had already torn off their surgical masks. Alex guessed that they would have a change of clothes on board so that if they were stopped, they would look like wealthy businessmen or maybe members of the crew. Was this the right moment to make a break for it? Once he was on the ship, he would be trapped, with nowhere to run. The moment they discovered that he wasn’t Sarko, they would shoot him and drop him overboard. He thought briefly of Jack and wondered if she had managed to contact MI6 yet. She certainly wouldn’t be too happy if he was found floating facedown at Greenwich harbor.
He wasn’t given the chance. It was almost as if the other men knew what he was thinking. As the group climbed up the gangplank, they were all around him, giving him no room to move. Sir Frederick was sitting down inside the main living area, out of sight. Charlie had taken his place, once again, behind the wheel. Danny and Gareth were on the deck, on either side of Alex, both of them towering over him. Khyber untied the ropes and climbed on board. Almost at once Phantom Lady was away, traveling down the river, helped on by a strong tide. Charlie pressed down the throttle. The sound of the engine rose. They headed east, past the Globe Theatre, passing underneath Southwark Bridge.
Alex didn’t like this. Nobody had spoken to him since they had left the Old Bailey. Had he somehow given himself away? He was weighing his options when he realized that, actually, he didn’t have any.
Colonel Sykes walked over to him. He really was a huge man, at least a foot taller than Alex. “What’s the matter, Sarko?” he demanded. “You’ve been very quiet.”
Alex waited, knowing what was coming. The Colonel reached out and snatched off his wig, then tore the glasses away from his face. Alex didn’t wait for the rest of it. He removed the fake mustache himself.
The Colonel stared at him. Then, slowly, he took out his gun. He pointed it straight at Alex. “I’m going to give you three seconds to answer this question,” he said. “And if you’re lying to me, I’m going to shoot you where you stand. Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“That’s two questions,” Alex said.
The finger tightened on the trigger. “Then give me two answers,” the Colonel said. “And give them to me now.”
6
DOWNRIVER
PHANTOM LADY CONTINUED ITS journey down the Thames, its two 1050 horsepower diesel engines propelling it effortlessly forward. Sir Frederick Meadows was still sitting on his own in the main salon. He had found a bottle of white wine and had poured himself a glass as if this were just a river cruise and he was an invited guest. Charlie was steering, perched on a high stool behind the wheel. Alex was standing in the middle of the deck. Colonel Sykes was in front of him, Khyber, Danny, and Gareth on each side and behind. He was surrounded by men with guns and he was unarmed. Meanwhile, the famous landmarks were flashing by, one after another . . . HMS Belfast, City Hall, the Tower of London. It occurred to Alex that tourists would have paid a fortune to be on this boat. He would have happily paid anything to get off it.
“Who are you?” Colonel Sykes repeated the question.
“He’s just a kid!” Khyber couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Now that Alex’s disguise had come off him, the truth was there for all of them to see, and they were shocked. After months of planning, the operation had been a complete success. But at the final moment, something inexplicable had happened. The group had been infiltrated—not by a policeman or an undercover agent, but by a schoolboy!
“My name is Alex Rider,” Alex said. Things were bad, and with every second they were getting worse. Southwark Bridge was already far behind him. London was slipping away. It felt like his chances of survival were going with it.
“How did you get here? What happened to Sarko? What do you think you’re doing, sticking your nose in our business?” The Colonel seemed to have shrunk. All the confidence and good humor had left his face. His hand tightened on the Mauser. He was aiming it directly betw
een Alex’s eyes.
Alex didn’t know how to answer the questions. Where was he even supposed to begin? Looking back at the events that had taken place since he’d gotten off the tube train that morning, he saw that any explanation would be too complicated, too unbelievable. It was easier just to remain silent.
But then Charlie answered, twisting around briefly on his stool. “I know who he is!” he exclaimed. “He works for MI6. He’s a spy.”
“He’s only a teenager!”
“I know, Colonel. But he was there when I was working for Sayle Enterprises. He’s had special training . . . martial arts. He knocked me out. I swear to you. I recognize him.” Charlie was torn between staring at Alex and keeping his eye on the river. “He was responsible for that whole operation going pear-shaped. That’s why I ended up working with you. Nobody believed it. But it’s true. MI6 sent him in.”
Sykes turned to Alex. “Did MI6 send you after us?” he demanded.
“No.” There was no point lying. “I saw your driver. I recognized him. He led me to you.” He paused. “Also, you don’t know how to spell Cadbury.”
There was a long silence. Alex felt the breeze whipping over his shoulders, tugging at his hair. Despite the bright sunshine, it was cold on the stern of the boat. He looked at the gray water rushing past and wondered if he could make a break for it. He could dive into the river and swim for the shore. The trouble was, there were too many guns. He was surrounded. He knew he would be dead before he could even reach the side.
The Colonel had been examining him, struggling with himself. What was it that he had said, back in the meat market? “We’re not criminals. We’re not killers.” Alex hoped he’d remember that now.
“We’ve got to get rid of him,” Khyber said. “He knows who we are. He can identify us.”
The Colonel nodded slowly. “You’re right, Khyber.” The bright blue eyes settled on Alex as if seeing him for the first time. “You shouldn’t have come here, Alex,” he said. “You shouldn’t have interfered. I don’t like the idea of killing children, but you’re not a child, are you. You’re a child soldier. That’s not the same.” He was working himself up into a fury, driving himself toward what he had to do. “I want you to understand something. What we’re doing, we’re only doing because we had to. Our country wouldn’t look after us, so we had to look after ourselves. And I’m not going to let you or anyone else stop us. Not now, when we’re so close.” His finger tightened on the trigger. “You brought this on yourself, Alex. I’m sorry.”
And then the soldier named Danny cried out and jerked forward as if he had been punched in the stomach. His face had gone white. The heart tattoo on his neck seemed to be beating with a life of its own. “Colonel,” he gasped. He ran to the side of the boat and threw up.
The other men stared at him.
“What—?” Sykes began.
“Wait!” Khyber stared.
And then it was his turn. One moment he was standing there, utterly confident, waiting for Alex to be gunned down. The next he was twisting on his feet, reaching out for support. He was sweating. A pulse was throbbing on his forehead. His eyes were glazed and out of focus.
“What is it?” Sykes demanded.
“I’m not well.” Khyber croaked out the words. Then: “The coffee!”
Sykes stared at Alex. Suddenly he understood.
When Alex had made coffee for the five men back at the meat market, he had come to an instant decision. He had no gun, no gadgets, nothing he could defend himself with. Somehow he had to turn the situation to his advantage, and he had come up with the one option that was available to him. He would attack the men with their own weapon. Leaving the five cups of coffee to cool on the tray, he had rushed back to the laboratory shelves and to the plastic bottle that he had opened, the one with the crouching frog. He knew that it was fast-acting. He knew that the liquid was nonlethal. He had heard the Colonel describing it. Shortly after you drank it, you’d think you were having a heart attack. That was fine. That would give him the opportunity to get away.
Alex had taken the bottle back into the kitchen and added a dose to each of the cups. Then he had carried them upstairs. He had been waiting for the poison to take effect ever since . . . and it had certainly chosen the right moment. Another few seconds and it would have been too late.
Khyber and Danny were out of it. They had completely forgotten Alex. Even if they had wanted to kill him, they would be unable to shoot straight. Colonel Sykes had frozen, taken by surprise. The bufotenine hadn’t worked on him yet. He was so huge that presumably it would take longer to work its way through his bloodstream. Alex was already moving. Even as Sykes swung around to take aim at him again, Alex rushed toward him, covering the short distance in a matter of seconds. His left elbow crashed into his stomach. At the same time, his right hand shot out, grabbing hold of the Colonel’s wrist, forcing the gun away. The Colonel fired. Charlie screamed and fell off the stool with a bullet in his shoulder. At once, Phantom Lady twisted off course as if with a life of its own.
Alex almost lost his balance as the powerful cruiser veered to one side, then swung around in a giant horseshoe, heading back the way it had come. Danny was less fortunate. He was still leaning over the side of the boat and, taken unawares, he tumbled forward. He cried out and then he was gone, his round head bobbing in the water like a buoy, already far behind. Well, at least that reduced the odds. Now it was only four against one.
Or three against one. Charlie was writhing on the deck, blood seeping out of the wound in his shoulder. The older, black soldier—Gareth—was bringing his gun around on Alex. Perhaps he hadn’t drunk any of the coffee. He didn’t seem to be affected. But it was almost impossible to aim straight with the boat rocking from side to side, and anyway, Colonel Sykes was in the way. Alex was still holding on to him, trying to keep the gun away. But the Colonel was slowly, steadily bringing it around, and Alex knew he didn’t have the strength to stop him.
He felt the deck swaying beneath him. Charlie must have had his hand on the throttle when he was hit, and he had dragged it down as he fell. The boat was rocketing forward, doubling its speed with every second that passed. Tower Bridge with its two mighty turrets and sixty-yard span was straight ahead. Would they go under it or crash into one of its massive concrete piers? Right now that was down to luck. Phantom Lady would make the decision for herself.
The boat jerked to the right and for a moment Alex and the Colonel were like dance partners, locked together as they fought for balance. Alex saw the gun out of the corner of his eye. Inch by inch it was edging toward his head. Sykes was much taller and stronger than him, and Alex knew that he was going to have to play dirty if he was going to survive. He made the one play available to him, suddenly dragging the gun down, leaning forward, and sinking his teeth into the man’s wrist.
Sykes howled and dropped the gun. Alex kicked it away across the deck, then brought his knee up into the man’s groin. Phantom Lady was zigzagging wildly along the Thames. Surely someone would see it and realize something was seriously wrong. The water was roaring past. Tower Bridge was looming over them. Alex had to reach the wheel before they smashed into it! And what about Sir Frederick Meadows? What had happened to him? All these thoughts were tiny fragments spinning through Alex’s head as the boat surged on.
Gareth had lost interest. He had drunk the coffee after all and now he was slumped on the deck. Charlie was unconscious. Khyber was groaning. Danny had gone overboard. But Sykes hadn’t given up. He lashed out and Alex was thrown backward. He felt his shoulders slam into the deck and for a moment everything swam in front of his eyes. Before he could get up, Sykes was on him, his hands around Alex’s throat.
“You’ve ruined everything!” he screamed. He had forgotten all that he had ever said. He was no longer a soldier, a war hero who had received a medal from the Queen. He was a killer. He was going to take his revenge.
There was the sound of a gunshot. The Colonel’s face was inches from his and Alex saw the look of shock and pain in the man’s eyes. His hands loosened and he fell to one side. Alex looked past him and saw Sir Frederick Meadows standing in front of the cabin, holding the Colonel’s gun in both of his hands, the second of his eleven fingers around the trigger. Smoke was rising from the barrel. The banker looked shocked.
There was no time to talk. Alex dragged himself to his feet, then staggered over to the steering wheel and grabbed it just as the huge bulk of Tower Bridge rose up right in front of him. He wrenched the wheel down with less than a second to spare. Phantom Lady spun sideways with water jetting out. Even so, the starboard side hit concrete and there was the terrible sound of splintering wood as the entire length of the luxury cruiser was torn apart. Alex was sure they were going to capsize. The engines were screaming. He reached for the throttle and rammed it up, reducing their speed. And then they were out the other side of the bridge, slowing down, part of the cabin crushed and the gleaming handrail twisted and broken. At the same time, far behind him, Alex heard sirens. The river police had finally arrived.
Sir Frederick Meadows hadn’t moved. He was standing there, small and neat, staring at Alex as if he couldn’t quite work out what had just happened but disapproved anyway. Alex was equally puzzled. The banker had just shot one of his own men and saved his life. Why?
“Are you all right?” Meadows asked.
“Yes,” Alex said, although it wasn’t quite true. His throat had been crushed. It still hurt to breathe.