Ark Angel Page 14

  Alex felt a twinge of pain in his chest. It happened every time anyone reminded him of his bullet wound. Perhaps it always would. “I’m not scared,” he said. “I just don’t like being used.”

  “We only use you because you’re so damn good,” Byrne replied. “And this time I’m not lying to you. You’re not working for MI6 and you’re not working for us. I just want you to continue with your vacation and if you see Drevin packing his suitcases or if a submarine turns up in the middle of the night, give us a call. I’ve already told you, I’ve got an agent on the island and there’ll be a back-up team just ten miles away on Barbados. You’ll be watched all the time. Nothing’s going to happen to you. I’m only afraid that somehow Drevin is going to get off the hook. Seven more days, Alex. Then we can make the arrest and you can go home.”

  “What about Paul?” It was only now that Alex thought about Paul Drevin. He wondered if he knew the truth about his father.

  “Nothing will happen to him. He’ll be well looked after. I guess he’ll go back to his mother.”

  Alex didn’t speak. He wanted to refuse but something was stopping him. He didn’t want Byrne to think he was afraid. Maybe it was as simple as that.

  “One week,” Byrne promised. “Drevin won’t suspect a thing. And just in case you do run into trouble, we’ve got someone here who might be able to help you.”

  “Who?”

  “He’s waiting for you outside.”

  He stood up and Alex followed him out of the office and down a corridor to an open-plan area. There was a man sitting at a table and Alex recognized him instantly. It would have been hard not to. The man was enormously fat. He was bald with a black moustache and a round, smiling face. He was wearing a brightly coloured Hawaiian shirt that couldn’t have looked more inappropriate among the dark suits of the CIA operatives. Alex had never seen so many flowers on one piece of material.

  “Hello, Alex!” the man boomed.

  “Hello, Mr Smithers,” Alex replied.

  “What a great pleasure to see you again. You’re looking tremendously well, if I may say so. Mrs Jones sends her best wishes.”

  “She knows I’m here?”

  “Oh yes. We’ve been keeping an eye on you. As a matter of fact, it was she who sent me here.” Smithers lowered his voice, although it could still be heard across the room. “We thought you might like one or two new gadgets, and although the Americans do produce a few of their own, I rather think we lead the field. Not that they’d agree, of course!”

  “Gadgets…” Alex watched as Smithers reached down and lifted a briefcase onto the table.

  “Absolutely. It wouldn’t be any fun without gadgets, would it? And I’ve come up with some quite interesting ideas. This, for example.” He produced an object that Alex recognized immediately. It was an inhaler, identical to the one Paul Drevin used. “Now, we happen to know that Drevin’s son has one of these,” Smithers explained. “So if anyone notices this in your luggage, they’ll simply assume it’s his. But it’s fingerprint sensitive and I’ve programmed it for your personal use. When you press the cylinder, it’ll send out a puff of knockout gas. Effective up to about five metres. Alternatively you can twist the cylinder round twice clockwise; that turns it into a hand grenade. Five-second fuse. I tested it on one of my assistants. Poor old Bennett … he should be out of hospital in a couple of months.”

  He passed it across and dived back into the case.

  “Eavesdropping,” he went on. “Part of your brief is to listen to anything interesting that Mr Drevin may be saying, and for that you’ll need this.” He brought out a slim white box with a set of headphones. Alex picked it up. It was an iPod. At least, it looked like one. “This uses microwave technology,” Smithers explained. “Point the screen at anyone up to fifty metres away and listen through the headphones. You’ll hear every word they say. You can also use it to contact the CIA. Rotate the click wheel three times anticlockwise and speak into it. I’ve got another version, by the way, packed with enough plastic explosive to blow up a building, but Mr Blunt said you weren’t to have it. Shame, really. I call it the i-x-Plod.

  “And one last thing. Flamingo Bay is a tropical island with lots of creepy-crawlies. So this might help…” Once again he reached into the case and this time came out with a glass bottle marked:

  STINGO

  Jungle-strength mosquito lotion

  “Mosquito repellent,” Alex said.

  “Absolutely not,” Smithers replied. “This is a very powerful formulation and it actually does the exact opposite. It attracts mosquitoes. In fact, once you open the bottle, it’ll attract just about every insect on the island. You might find it useful if you need a diversion.” He closed the case and stood up. “I’m off to St Lucia,” he announced. “A little holiday – and it’ll give me a chance to test my shark-repellent swimming trunks. So I won’t be too far away if you need me, although I’m sure you won’t. Chin-chin!”

  Smithers wandered off down another corridor. Alex was left with Joe Byrne.

  “So will you do it?” Byrne asked.

  Alex stared at the three gadgets on the table. “It looks like everyone’s already made up my mind for me.”

  “That’s great, Alex. Thank you.” Byrne gestured and the blond-haired man who had brought Alex from the airport came over. “You’ve already met Special Agent Shulsky,” he said.

  “Call me Ed,” the agent said. Without the dark glasses and the intimidating manner, he seemed a lot more pleasant. Alex guessed he was still in his twenties; he looked as if he hadn’t long graduated from college.

  “Agent Shulsky will be heading the back-up operation,” Byrne explained. “He and a dozen people will be based on Barbados. That’s where you’ll be landing, by the way. Flamingo Bay doesn’t have its own airstrip. The moment you call, they’ll come running.”

  Shulsky smiled. “It’s a real pleasure to be working with you, Alex,” he said. “They showed us your file. I have to say, it’s more than impressive.”

  “Is there anything else you want to know?” Byrne asked.

  “Yes. There is one thing,” Alex said. “This all came about because I just happened to be in the room next to Paul Drevin at St Dominic’s Hospital. But it was no coincidence, was it? Mr Blunt put me there because he hoped I’d meet Paul and become friends with him.”

  Byrne hesitated. “I can’t answer that for sure, Alex,” he said. “But I will say this much: Alan Blunt does have a knack of making events work his way.”

  So it was true. Alex could have been taken to any hospital in London. But even as he lay there bleeding with a bullet in his chest, the MI6 chief had been planning ahead, engineering his next assignment. It was almost beyond belief. No. Where Blunt was concerned, it was to be expected.

  “Shulsky will take you back to the airport,” Byrne added. “We’ll sort you out a temporary passport and Drevin will pick you up tomorrow. Good luck on Flamingo Bay.”

  “Just don’t expect any postcards,” Alex said.

  He and Ed Shulsky left together. Byrne shook his head and walked slowly back the other way.

  FLAMINGO BAY

  The six-seater Cessna 195 seaplane circled the island almost lazily before it came in to land. Alex, along with Paul and his father, had been flown from New York to Grantley Adams International Airport on the south-east corner of Barbados. From there they had been taken by car a few miles up the coast to Ragged Point, where the seaplane had been waiting for the final ten-mile flight to Drevin’s private island.

  Alex could see it now, his face pressed against the window with the single propeller buzzing noisily and the starboard wing stretching out above his head. From the air, Flamingo Bay looked as ridiculously beautiful as every Caribbean island, the colours almost too intense to be true. There was the dazzling blue of the ocean, the immaculate white beaches, the rich, elemental green of the pine trees and rainforest. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect for the coming launch. As the plane arced for a second ti
me, tilting towards the stretch of water that would be its landing strip, brilliant sunshine blazed in through the window.

  “There it is!” Paul Drevin leant past Alex and pointed. “You can see the launch site!” he exclaimed.

  The island was about two miles long and shaped like a leaping fish. The rocket gantries stood where the eye should have been. There were two of them, right next to the sea, with about a dozen brick buildings, many of them surmounted with satellite dishes, about a quarter of a mile away. The ground in this area was quite bare, all the vegetation burned away, presumably by rocket exhaust. Alex remembered what Kaspar had told him when he had been a prisoner of Force Three. Four bird species had been made extinct on the island. He was surprised it hadn’t been more.

  If the head of the fish was naked, the rest of it was covered with dense rainforest separated by a narrow track which ran the full length of the island. The track led to a tall fence running north to south, with a checkpoint and a series of wooden cabins near by. This was the only way into the launch site. There were watchtowers all over the island, making sure that nobody could approach unseen by sea.

  Drevin’s house had been built on what Alex thought of as the fish’s tail. It was a simple white structure, and even from this distance he could see that it was ultra-modern with giant glass windows giving uninterrupted views of the sea. The arched belly of the fish was one long beach with palm trees leaning towards the water. As the plane dipped down, Alex saw a brightly painted wooden jetty, three motor launches and a couple of sailing boats anchored in the shallows. He couldn’t hear music from steel drums or smell the rum – but it was easy to imagine them.

  “Fasten your seat belts,” Drevin said. “We are about to land.”

  Drevin was sitting on the other side of the aisle, wearing a pale yellow open-necked shirt. He hadn’t spoken much on the journey from New York, not even when he had fetched Alex from the departure lounge at JFK. Alex got the impression that Drevin blamed him personally for the mix-up over the passport. Or perhaps he was annoyed with the American authorities for inconveniencing one of his guests. Now he was deep in thought, tugging at his ring. In the bright sunlight his face looked more pale than ever.

  Alex was grateful for the silence. He wasn’t sure how to behave with Drevin any more. Everything Joe Byrne had told him was tumbling around in his head. In the space of just a few days, Drevin had gone from being a reclusive billionaire who didn’t like losing, to the biggest criminal in the world. He was involved with the mafiya and the triads, who – only a few months ago – had tried to kill Alex. People who got in his way died. He was another monster and here he was, sitting just a few seats away.

  The Cessna swept down and landed smoothly, water spraying up towards the windows. It taxied towards the jetty and came to a halt. Paul Drevin was the first to stand up, followed by Tamara Knight, who had been sitting directly behind Alex. They made their way out into the soft heat of the Caribbean afternoon.

  There was an electric buggy waiting for them, the sort that was normally used on golf courses. Drevin had already explained that there was very little petrol on the island; electric vehicles were easier. Now that he was back on land, he seemed more cheerful.

  “We’ll go to the house first and change,” he announced. “Alex, I’m sure you’d like to see around the island. We can do that before dinner. Tomorrow I’ll be busy with preparations for the launch, so the two of you will have to amuse yourselves. But there’s plenty to do. Swimming, scuba-diving, sailing… Welcome, you might say, to paradise.”

  Drevin drove them the short distance to Little Point, the corner of the island where the house stood. The building was as impressive in its own way as every property that Drevin owned. It was almost futuristic, white with huge windows that retracted into the walls, so that at the press of a button it could be either open to the elements or enclosed. It had been raised about half a metre above the ground, presumably to allow the air to circulate. Thick, wooden legs supported it on a rocky shelf facing west. Alex guessed that the sunsets would be spectacular. There were only three bedrooms. Tamara would be staying on the other side of the island. Alex was next door to Paul. His room had two single beds, an en suite bathroom and plenty of space.

  Ten minutes later, dressed in a T-shirt, knee-length shorts and sandals, Alex was back in the buggy next to Paul. It was early in the afternoon and the sun was still strong. Drevin drove them along the single track. Although the island couldn’t have been more than half a mile wide, the sea had disappeared from view, lost behind a seemingly impenetrable screen of vegetation. Here the atmosphere was damp and heavy, and Alex could hear thousands of insects already active among the leaves.

  They passed the cabins that Alex had seen from the air, and immediately afterwards came to an electric gate with a checkpoint and three guards on patrol. They were the first guards Alex had seen. They were dressed in pale grey overalls with a logo – a pair of wings and a streak of light – printed on the left side of their chest. They wore combat boots and carried black Mini Uzi 19mm sub-machine guns. Seeing the vicious weapons, Alex felt a twinge of unease. Joe Byrne had made this visit to Flamingo Bay sound very safe and straightforward. He was there to make sure Drevin didn’t run away. Nothing more than that. But if something did go wrong, if Drevin found out that Alex had been in contact with the CIA, he would be trapped. He had no doubt that the motor boats would be neutralized at night. The plane had already left. Barbados and the CIA back-up team were ten miles away. Once again Alex found himself surrounded by an enemy army and, as usual, he was on his own.

  The buggy stopped and a man appeared, dressed in the same grey uniform as the guards. He was an ugly man, aged in his thirties, with round cheeks, thick lips and curling, ginger-coloured hair. There was something about his face that didn’t look quite real. His skin was deathly pale, as if he never stepped out into the sun. Alex could see the man’s paunch pressing against his overalls. He wasn’t just unfit. He looked ill.

  “Good afternoon, Mr Drevin,” he said. His voice suited his appearance. The words came out in a strained, unpleasant whisper as if he had something caught in his throat.

  “Good afternoon.” Drevin turned to the two boys. “This is one of the most important people on the island,” he explained. “His name is Magnus Payne and he’s the head of security.” He looked at Payne. “You haven’t met my son, Paul; and his friend, Alex Rider.”

  The security man nodded at Alex. “Nice to meet you, Alex,” he said, and at that moment Alex was conscious of two things. Although he knew it was impossible, he wondered if he’d met Payne before. And there was something else. Something that felt wrong. But what?

  “I should warn you that Payne has complete control over this side of the island,” Drevin was explaining. “You must do what he tells you. And please don’t try to get past here without his authorization.”

  “What’s the point of a security barrier?” Alex asked. “This is an island. If someone wanted to break in, they could just swim round.”

  “Razor wire,” Magnus Payne rasped. “Under the water. They could try, but it would be rather painful.”

  He raised a hand and the gate slid open, activated from inside the checkpoint. Payne climbed into the buggy next to Drevin and the four of them continued to the launch area.

  Alex had seen many amazing things in his life, but the sight before him was something he knew he would never forget.

  The rocket was right in front of him, on the edge of a flat, empty area, pointing towards the sky and supported by two steel arms reaching out from a huge gantry. It was at least fifty metres tall, slender and more beautiful than anything Alex could have imagined. He had seen rockets in museums; he had watched launches on TV. But this was different. It was surrounded by a vast, blue sky which seemed suddenly endless. And yet, sitting there, it seemed to radiate the power that was contained in the four solid rocket boosters that would, very soon, blast it into space. About twenty people were working around it. The
rocket dwarfed them, making them look tiny.

  “We call it Gabriel 7,” Drevin said, and he couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. “It’s an Atlas 2AS rocket. You can just make out the payload.” He pointed to a bulging shape close to the rocket’s tip. “It’s covered with an aerodynamic fairing,” he went on. “It has to survive the ascent through the atmosphere. But underneath, there’s a glass and steel observation module weighing 1.8 tonnes. It will take the Atlas just fifteen minutes to carry it into space, and the day after tomorrow it’ll be up there, three hundred miles above our heads. The heart of Ark Angel!”

  Paul shook his head. “It’s really cool!”

  “Cool?” Drevin snapped. “I despise this modern teenage slang! You use ghetto language to describe what you can’t even begin to imagine. Cool? Is that all you can say?”

  “What about the other rocket?” Alex asked.

  He had seen the second gantry from the plane. It was further along the shore, a clear distance from the Atlas. The second rocket, slightly smaller, also seemed to be waiting for blast-off. More people surrounded it, working on the final preparations.

  “Mr Payne?” Drevin turned to his head of security.

  “We’ve brought forward the launch,” Payne explained in his rasping voice. “We plan to send it up immediately after Gabriel 7.”

  “Why?” Alex wondered.

  “We are involved in a series of long-term experiments,” Drevin said. “We need to know more about the effects of weightlessness on the human body. The second rocket is a Soyuz-Fregat. It will carry a model of the human system into space.”

  “What does that mean?” Alex asked.

  “An ape.”

  “I didn’t realize you were still allowed to use animals.”

  Drevin shrugged. “It’s not ideal. But there’s no other way.”

  They drove to the first of the brick buildings. It was the largest in the compound, with three satellite dishes pointing up at the sky. “This is the control centre,” Payne told them. “The other buildings are for storage and construction. We also have sleeping quarters and recreation facilities. There are more than sixty people working on the island.”