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The pilot walked up to them, extending a hand. ‚Good morning,' she shouted over the noise of the rotors. ‚I’m Mrs. Stellenbosch. From the academy…'

  If Sir David and Lady Caroline had been thrown by their first sight of Alex, the appearance of the assistant director left them frozen to the spot. Sir David was the first to recover. ‚You flew the helicopter yourself?'

  ‚Yes … I’m qualified,' Mrs. Stellenbosch answered.

  ‚Would you like to come in?' Lady Caroline said. ‚Perhaps you’d like some tea.'

  She led them into the house and into the living room, where Mrs. Stellenbosch sat, legs apart, her helmet on the sofa beside her. Sir David and Lady Caroline sat opposite her. Tea had been brought in on a tray.

  ‚Do you mind if I smoke?' Mrs. Stellenbosch asked.

  She reached into a pocket and took out a small packet of cigars without waiting for an answer. She lit one and blew smoke. ‚What a very beautiful house you have, Sir David.

  Georgian, I would say, but decorated with such taste! And where, may I ask, is Alex?'

  ‚He went for a walk,' Sir David said.

  ‚Perhaps he’s a little nervous.' She smiled again and took the teacup Lady Caroline had proffered. ‚I understand that Alex has been a great source of concern to you.'

  Sir David Friend nodded. His eyes gave nothing away. For the next few minutes, he told Mrs. Stellenbosch about Alex, how he had been expelled from Eton, how out of control he had become. Lady Caroline listened to all this in silence, occasionally holding her husband’s arm.

  ‚I’m at my wit’s end,' Sir David concluded. ‚We have an older daughter, and she’s perfectly delightful. But Alex’? He hangs around the house. He doesn’t read. He doesn’t show any interest in anything. His appearance … well, you’ll see for yourself. The Point Blanc Academy is our last resort, Mrs. Stellenbosch. We’re desperately hoping you can straighten him out.'

  The assistant director poked at the air with her cigar, leaving a gray trail. ‚I’m sure you’ve been a marvelous father, Sir David,' she purred. ‚But these modern children! It’s heartbreaking the way some of them behave. You’ve done the right thing, coming to us. As I’m sure you know, the academy has had a remarkable success rate over the years.'

  ‚What exactly do you do?' Lady Caroline asked.

  ‚We have our methods.' The woman’s eyes twinkled.

  She tapped ash into her saucer. ‚But I can promise you, we’ll straighten out all his problems.

  Don’t you worry! When he comes home, he’ll be a completely different boy.'

  Alex had reached the edge of a field about a half mile from the house. He had seen the helicopter land and knew that his time had come. But he wasn’t ready yet to leave. Mrs. Jones had telephoned him the night before. Once again, MI6 wasn’t going to send him empty-handed into what might be enemy territory.

  He watched as a combine harvester rumbled slowly toward him, cutting a swathe through the grass. It jerked to a halt a short distance away, and the door of the cabin opened. A man got out—with difficulty. He was so fat that he had to squeeze himself out, first one buttock, then the next, and finally his stomach, shoulders, and head. The man was wearing a checked shirt and blue overalls—a farmer’s outfit. But even if he’d had a straw hat and a blade of corn between his teeth, Alex could never have imagined him actually farming anything.

  The man grinned at him. ‚Hello, old chap!' he said.

  ‚Hello, Mr. Smithers,' Alex replied.

  Smithers worked for MI6. He had supplied the various devices Alex had used on his last mission. ‚Very nice to see you again!' he exclaimed. He winked. ‚What do you think of the cover? I was told to blend in with the countryside.'

  ‚The combine harvester’s a great idea,' Alex said. ‚Except, this is April. There isn’t anything to harvest.'

  ‚I hadn’t thought of that!' Smithers beamed. ‚The trouble is, I’m not really a field agent.

  Field agent!' He looked around him and laughed. ‚Anyway, I’m jolly glad to have the chance to work with you again, Alex—to think up a few bits and pieces for you. It’s not often I get a teenager. Much more fun than the adults!'

  He reached into the cabin and pulled out a suitcase. ‚Actually, it’s been a bit tricky this time,' he went on.

  ‚Have you got another Nintendo Game Boy?' Alex asked.

  ‚No. That’s just it. The school doesn’t allow Game Boys—or any computers at all, for that matter. They supply their own laptops. I could have hidden a dozen gadgets inside a laptop, but there you are! Now, let’s see…' He opened the case. ‚I’m told there’s still a lot of snow up at Point Blanc’ so you’ll need this.'

  ‚A ski suit,' Alex said. That was what Smithers was holding.

  ‚Yes. But it’s highly insulated and also bulletproof.' He pulled out a pair of green-tinted goggles. ‚These are ski goggles. But in case you have to go anywhere at night, they’re actually infrared. There’s a battery concealed in the frame. Just press the switch and you’ll be able to see about twenty yards, even if there’s no moon.'

  Smithers reached into the case a second time. ‚Now, what else would a boy of your age have with him? Fortunately, you’re allowed to take a Sony Discman, provided all the CDs are classical.' He handed Alex the machine.

  ‚So while people are shooting at me in the middle of the night, I get to listen to music,' Alex said.

  ‚Absolutely. Only don’t play the Beethoven!' Smithers held up the disc. ‚The Discman converts into an electric saw. The CD is diamond-edged. It’ll cut through just about anything—

  useful if you need to get out in a hurry. There’s also a panic button I’ve built in. If you’re in real trouble and you need help, just press Fast Forward three times. It’ll send out a signal that our satellite will pick up. And then we can fast forward you out!'

  ‚Thank you, Mr. Smithers,' Alex said, but he was disappointed and it showed.

  Smithers understood. ‚I know what you want,' he said. ‚But you know you can’t have it.

  No guns! Mr. Blunt is adamant. He thinks you’re too young.'

  ‚Not too young to get killed, though.'

  ‚I know. So I’ve given it a bit of thought and rustled up a couple of … defensive measures, so to speak. This is just between you and me, you understand. I’m not sure Mr. Blunt would approve.'

  He held out a hand. A gold ear stud lay in two pieces in the middle of his palm: a diamond shape for the front and a catch to hold it at the back. The stud looked tiny surrounded by so much flesh. ‚They told me you’d had your ear pierced,' he said. ‚So I made you this. Be very careful after you’ve put it in. Bringing the two pieces together will activate it.'

  ‚Activate what?' Alex looked doubtful.

  ‚The ear stud is a small but very powerful explosive device. Like a miniature grenade.

  Separating the two pieces again will set it off. Count to ten and it’ll blow a hole in just about anything … or anyone, I should add.'

  ‚Just so long as it doesn’t blow off my ear,' Alex muttered.

  ‚No, no. It’s perfectly safe so long as the pieces remain attached.' Smithers smiled. ‚And finally, I’m very pleased with this. It’s exactly what you’d expect to find in a young boy’s luggage, and I designed it especially for you.' He had produced a book.

  Alex took it. It was a hardcover edition of the latest Harry Potter book. ‚Thanks,' he said.

  ‚But I’ve already read it.'

  ‚This is a special edition. There’s a gun built into the spine, and the chamber is loaded with a stun dart. Just point it and press the author’s name. It’ll knock out an adult in less than five seconds.'

  Alex smiled. Smithers climbed back into the combine harvester. For a moment he seemed to have wedged himself permanently into the door, but then with a grunt he managed to go the whole way. ‚Good luck, old chap,' he said. ‚Come back in one piece! I really do enjoy having you around!'

  It was time to go.

  Alex’s luggage was being loaded int
o the helicopter, and he was standing next to his new parents, clutching the Harry Potter book. Eva Stellenbosch was waiting for him underneath the rotors. He had been shocked by her appearance, and at first he had tried to hide it. But then he’d relaxed. He didn’t have to be polite. Alex Rider might have good manners, but Alex Friend wouldn’t give a damn what she thought. He glanced at her scornfully now and noticed that she was watching him carefully as he said good-bye.

  Once again, Sir David Friend acted his part perfectly. ‚Good-bye, Alex,' he said. ‚You will write to us and let us know you’re okay?'

  ‚If you want,' Alex said.

  Lady Caroline moved forward and kissed him. Alex backed away from her as if embarrassed. He had to admit that she looked genuinely sad.

  ‚Come, Alex!' Mrs. Stellenbosch was in a hurry to get away. She had told him that the helicopter had a range of only four hundred miles and that they would need to stop in Paris to refuel.

  And then Fiona appeared, crossing the grass toward them. Alex hadn’t spoken to her for the last two days, not since the business at the tunnel. Nor had she spoken to him. He had rejected her, and he knew she would never forgive him. She hadn’t come down to breakfast this morning, and he’d assumed she wouldn’t show herself again until he’d gone. So what was she doing here now?

  Suddenly Alex knew. She’d come to cause trouble—one last jab below the belt. He could see it in her eyes and in the way she flounced across the lawn with her hands rolled into fists.

  Fiona didn’t know he was a spy. But she must know that he was here for a reason, and she had probably guessed it had something to do with the woman from Point Blanc. So she had decided to come out and spoil things for him.

  Maybe she was going to ask questions. Maybe she was going to give Mrs. Stellenbosch a piece of her mind. Either way, Alex knew that his mission would be over before it had even begun. All his work memorizing the files and all the time he had spent with the family would have been for nothing.

  ‚Fiona…' Sir David muttered. His eyes were grave. He had come to the same conclusion as Alex.

  She ignored him. ‚Are you from the academy?' she asked, speaking directly to Mrs. Stellenbosch.

  ‚Yes, my dear.'

  ‚Well, I think there’s something you should know.'

  There was only one thing Alex could do. He lifted the Harry Potter book and pointed it at Fiona, then pressed the spine once, hard. There was no noise, but he felt the book shudder in his hand. Fiona put her hand to the side of her leg. All the color drained out of her face. She crumpled to the grass.

  Lady Caroline ran to her. Mrs. Stellenbosch looked puzzled. Alex turned to her, his face blank. ‚That’s my sister,' he said. ‚She gets very emotional.'

  Two minutes later, the helicopter took off. Alex watched through the window as Haverstock Hall got smaller and smaller and then disappeared behind them. He looked at Mrs. Stellenbosch, hunched over the controls, her eyes hidden by her goggles. He eased himself into his chair and let himself be carried away into the darkening sky. Then the clouds rolled in.

  The countryside was gone. So was his only weapon. Alex was on his own.

  ROOM 13

  IT WAS RAINING IN PARIS. The city looked tired and disappointed, the Eiffel Tower fighting against a mass of heavy clouds. There was nobody sitting at the tables outside the cafes, and for once the little kiosks selling paintings and postcards were being ignored by the tourists, who were hurrying back to their hotels. It was five o’clock in the afternoon and the evening was drawing in, unnoticed. The shops and offices were emptying, but the city didn’t care. It just wanted to be left alone.

  The helicopter had landed in a private area of Charles de Gaulle airport, and a car had been waiting to drive them in. Alex had said nothing during the flight and now he sat on his own in the back, watching the buildings flash by. They were following the Seine, moving surprisingly fast along a wide, two-lane road that dipped above and below the water level. Their route took them past Notre Dame. Then they turned off, weaving their way through a series of back streets with smaller restaurants and boutiques fighting for space on the pavements.

  ‚The Marais,' Mrs. Stellenbosch said to Alex, pointing out the window.

  He pretended to show no interest. In fact, he had stayed in the Marais once with his uncle and knew it as one of the most sophisticated and expensive sections in Paris.

  The car turned into a large square and stopped. Alex glanced out the window. He was surrounded on four sides by the tall, classical houses for which Paris is famous. But the square had been disfigured by a single modern hotel. It was a white, rectangular block, the windows fitted with dark glass that allowed no view inside. It rose up four floors with a flat roof and the name HOTEL DU MONDE in gold letters above the main door. If a spaceship had landed in the square, crushing a couple of buildings to make room for itself, it couldn’t have looked more out of place.

  ‚This is where we’re staying,' Mrs. Stellenbosch said. ‚The hotel is owned by the academy.'

  The driver took their cases out of the trunk. Alex followed the assistant director toward the entrance, the door sliding open automatically to allow them in. The lobby was cold and faceless, white marble and mirrors with a single potted plant tucked into a corner as an afterthought.

  There was a small reception desk with an unsmiling male receptionist in a dark suit and glasses, a computer, and a row of pigeonholes. Alex counted them. There were fifteen. Presumably, the hotel had fifteen rooms.

  ‚ Bonsoir, Madame Stellenbosch.' The receptionist nodded his head slightly. He ignored Alex. ‚I hope you had a good journey from England,' he continued, still speaking in French.

  Alex gazed blankly, as if he hadn’t understood a word. Alex Friend wouldn’t speak French. He wouldn’t have bothered to learn. But Ian Rider had made certain that his nephew was speaking French almost as soon as he was speaking English. Not to mention German and Spanish as well.

  The receptionist took down two keys. He didn’t ask either of them to sign in. He didn’t ask for a credit card. The school owned the hotel, so there would be no bill when they left. He gave Alex one of the keys.

  ‚I hope you’re not superstitious,' he said, speaking in English now.

  ‚No,' Alex replied.

  ‚It is room thirteen. On the first floor. I am sure you will find it most agreeable.' The receptionist smiled.

  Mrs. Stellenbosch took her key. ‚The hotel has its own restaurant,' she said. Her voice was gravelly and strangely masculine. Her breath smelled of cigar smoke. ‚We might as well eat here tonight. We don’t want to go out in the rain. Anyway, the food here is excellent. Do you like French food, Alex?'

  ‚Not much,' Alex said.

  ‚Well, I’m sure we’ll find something that you like. Why don’t you freshen up after the journey?' She looked at her watch. ‚We’ll eat at seven—an hour and a half from now. It will give us an opportunity to talk together. Might I suggest, perhaps, some neater clothes for dinner? The French are informal, but—if you’ll forgive me saying so, my dear—you take informality a little far. I’ll call you at five to seven. I hope the room is all right.'

  Room 13 was at the end of a long, narrow corridor. The door opened into a surprisingly large space, with views over the square. There was a double bed with a black-and-white comforter, a television and minibar, a desk, and, on the wall, a couple of framed pictures of Paris. A porter had carried up Alex’s suitcase, and as soon as he was gone, Alex kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed. He wondered why they had come here. He knew the helicopter had needed refueling, but that shouldn’t have necessitated an overnight stop. Why not fly on straight to the school?

  He had more than an hour to kill. First he went into the bathroom—more glass and white marble—and took a long shower. Then, wrapped in a towel, he went back into the room and turned on the television. Alex Friend would watch a lot of television. There were about thirty channels to choose from. Alex skipped past the French ones and stopped on M
TV. He wondered if he was being monitored. There was a large mirror next to the desk, and it would be easy enough to conceal a camera behind it. Well, why not give them something to think about?

  He opened the minibar and poured himself a glass of gin. Then he went into the bathroom, refilled the bottle with water, and put it back in the fridge. Drinking alcohol and stealing! If she was watching, Madame Stellenbosch would know that she had her hands full with him.

  He spent the next forty minutes watching television and pretending to drink the gin. Then he took the glass into the bathroom and dumped it in the sink. It was time to get dressed.

  Should he do what he was told and put on neater clothes? In the end, he compromised. He put on a new shirt, but kept the same jeans. A moment later, the telephone rang. His call for dinner.

  Mrs. Stellenbosch was waiting for him in the restaurant, a large, airless room in the basement. Soft lighting and mirrors had been used to make it feel more spacious, but it was still the last place Alex would have chosen. The restaurant could have been anywhere, in any part of the world. There were two other diners—businessmen, from the looks of them—but otherwise they were alone. Mrs. Stellenbosch had changed into a black evening dress with feathers at the collar, and she had an antique necklace of black and silver beads. The fancier her clothes, Alex thought, the uglier she looked. She was smoking another cigar.

  ‚Ah, Alex!' She blew smoke. ‚Did you have a rest? Or did you watch TV?'

  Alex didn’t say anything. He sat down and opened the menu, then closed it again when he saw that it was all in French.

  ‚You must let me order for you. Some soup to start, perhaps? And then a steak. I’ve never yet met a boy who doesn’t like steak.'

  ‚My cousin Oliver is a vegetarian,' Alex said. It was something he had read in one of the files.

  The assistant director nodded as if she already knew this. ‚Then he doesn’t know what he is missing,' she said. A palefaced waiter came over and she placed the order in French. ‚What will you drink?' she asked.