Never Say Die Read online

  There was no point discussing it with them. The odds were six against one and the men clearly hadn’t come here for a quiet chat. Somehow Alex had to get back to the relative safety of the town. Whatever they were planning, they wouldn’t be able to go through with it if there were witnesses. He took one look at them as they spread out and began their search, giving each one of them a name.

  BANDAGE. He was carrying the rifle and seemed

  to be in charge.

  SKULLCAP. Carrying a knife.

  SILVER CROSS. Another knife.

  BASEBALL BAT. Named after his weapon.

  ANT.

  DEC.

  Alex didn’t know why he had named the last two after popular television presenters, except that they were both short and dark-haired and looked a bit like each other. They were carrying what looked like axe handles – fortunately, without the metal blades.

  So that was the enemy. At least he had them pinned down in his mind. Alex backed into the doorway, allowing the prison block to conceal him. Already he was considering his options. He was alone and unarmed. Apart from Yusuf, nobody knew he was here. He could try to hide but the men would find him eventually. It would be better to run. What then? Even if he made it out of the fort, he’d find himself in the desert, surrounded by flat sand with nowhere to hide, ten miles from the town. The men would spot him instantly and then they would jump in the truck and run him down.

  Without making a sound, he doubled back along the corridor and into Jack’s cell. He glanced one last time at the bunk, thinking of the name he had found underneath it. He was glad he had captured it on his phone … the one fragment of proof that he actually had. But there was no time to think about that now. He needed to get out of the building, fast, and thanks to Jack he knew how to do it.

  Once again, he pulled himself up to the window that was missing its bar and, pushing his backpack ahead of him, squeezed through the gap. The ground was a long way down and he fell with a soft thump. He snatched up the backpack, wishing that he had brought along a weapon. Where was Smithers when he needed him? A couple of exploding coins, a miniature smoke bomb, a mobile phone with an anaesthetic dart … he would have been grateful for anything. He heard a voice coming from the other side of the building, someone giving orders in Arabic. He guessed it was Bandage. He was the most dangerous of them. He was the one with the gun.

  Alex knew that, whatever happened, he had to stay out of sight. It was his only advantage. This was going to be a cat-and-mouse game and fortunately there were plenty of holes for the mouse to hide. Even so, he couldn’t just let them hunt him down. Time was on their side. They could stay here all night if they wanted, while he had no food and little water. Somehow he had to reduce the odds. They had split up and that was their first mistake. It gave him the chance to sneak up on them one at a time. And what then…? He arrived at one of the salt piles – Razim’s men had once collected salt from the desert – and scooped up a handful of the white crystals. Briefly, he considered hiding himself in the pile but he knew it was out of the question. The chemicals in the salt were too toxic. He remembered what they had done to Razim.

  He reached the corner and peered round just as Skullcap appeared. He looked enormous, walking with the sunlight behind him, a dark shadow looming over Alex as he headed towards him.

  Skullcap was even more surprised to see Alex than Alex was to see him. Both of them reacted at once but Alex was faster. Skullcap lifted his knife, the seven-inch blade glinting in the sun. But before he could use it, Alex threw his hand forward, his fingers splayed, as if he was casting a spell. Skullcap gasped and fell back. It wasn’t magic. Alex had been holding the salt that he had taken from the pile and had thrown it into the man’s eyes, blinding him. He quickly followed through, twisting round and bringing his right knee to his chest, then striking out with his heel, putting all his body weight behind it.

  Skullcap crumpled without making another sound. Five against one. And Alex now had a knife. He grabbed it.

  Alex didn’t waste a second. There was always a chance that one of the others might have heard the brief confrontation and he needed to move away fast. A flight of stone steps led up to the parapet, a wide ledge which ran high up along the inner wall, all the way round the courtyard. Alex took the steps three at a time, then threw himself flat when he reached the top, lying on his stomach with the battlements rising up behind him. Nobody had seen him. Catching his breath, he looked around. An ancient cannon stood a short distance away, facing out into the desert. The fort had been built during the French invasion of Egypt and the weapon must have been left behind by the armies of Napoleon. It was useless now, cracked and rusting and too heavy to move. Even a museum would probably have said it was without value. He also noticed a couple of old cannonballs, black and mottled, about the size of coconuts. Tentatively, he reached out with his foot and tested the nearest one. It was heavy but it moved.

  Alex twisted onto his side and examined the courtyard. Lying on the parapet, he knew that he would be hidden from the men who were searching for him … even if they happened to look up. He saw one of them come out of the chapel about fifteen metres away. It was Baseball Bat. He seemed to be taking a more relaxed attitude to the search. As Alex watched, the man fumbled in his pockets, took out a cigarette and lit it. Alex measured the distance between them. He’d had an idea. As quickly as he could, he took off his wristwatch and threw it down into the sand. It was an Omega, given to him by Ian Rider, and he didn’t want to lose it, but if things went well, he would get it back later. If things went badly, he wouldn’t need it anyway. Baseball Bat didn’t see the watch fall but he heard something hit the ground and that caught his attention. He lowered the cigarette and almost at once he saw the shine of the metal band reflecting the sun. He smiled to himself and began to move forward.

  Alex curled himself behind the cannonball with his back against the wall. It was more dangerous sitting up. The top half of his body was exposed and if anyone looked up, he would be seen. But this was only going to take a moment. Alex watched as Baseball Bat drew nearer, walking towards the wall. He stopped directly beneath him and reached down for the watch. Alex lashed out with both feet, propelling the solid iron ball towards the edge. At the same time, he jerked forward so that he could see what happened.

  The man was leaning down, his hand stretched out to pick up the watch, when the cannonball hit him on the side of his head. In a way, he was lucky. An inch to the right and it might have broken his neck. Instead, he received a glancing blow – but it was still enough to knock him out instantly. He fell and lay still, a pool of blood seeping into the sand.

  Four against one.

  Once again, Alex was on the move. Crouching down and keeping as close as he could to the battlements, he scurried like a crab … all the way round the parapet, past the chapel and over to the house where Razim had lived. Then, he heard a shout from the other side. Skullcap had just been discovered, lying unconscious outside the prison. That changed things. They knew he was dangerous now. They would be more careful. And Bandage still had his gun.

  Alex found a flight of steps leading behind the house and threw himself down them, glad to be dipping out of sight. Was it too much to hope that with two of their colleagues injured – one of them badly – the others might give up? Unfortunately, they seemed to be doing the exact opposite. Alex saw Bandage checking his gun. It was an old Lee–Enfield self-loading battle rifle, the sort used by the British Army in the Second World War. Alex guessed there would be twenty bullets in the box magazine – if it was fully loaded. It was clearly the game-changer here. Whoever had the gun had control of the entire courtyard and the gate. At the moment that wasn’t him. Was there anything he could do?

  The four survivors had gathered on the other side of the well. Squatting behind Razim’s cactus garden, Alex could see them clearly. Bandage was rasping out orders in Arabic. Clearly, he had decided that some sort of plan was required before there were any more casualties. Sure e
nough, one of the men – Dec – climbed up to the parapet, taking the same steps that Alex had used. From there, he would have a view across the entire courtyard and could warn the rest if Alex made a move. The two others set off towards the bakery. They obviously thought they would be safer as a pair. Bandage positioned himself at the very centre, next to the well. He had a good view of the main gate and most of the buildings. Wherever Alex appeared, he would be in the line of fire.

  Alex had to do something – and soon. Dec was moving slowly round the parapet and it was only a matter of seconds before he reached the corner from where he would have no trouble spotting him. Bandage had his back to him. Alex thought about running across the courtyard, trying to surprise him. But it wouldn’t work. He was too far away. Could he throw the knife? He examined the weapon in his hand. It was sharp but it was also heavy and might not fly straight. Anyway, there was something in him that recoiled at the idea of stabbing a man in the back.

  Was there another way?

  Yes. Alex took one quick look around him and set to work.

  Bandage had also lit a cigarette. It was about the most stupid thing he could have done – and not just because smoking would kill him. Taking the packet out of his pocket, sliding the cigarette, finding a match … all this had demanded his attention and when the man on the parapet cried out a warning, it was already too late. He turned slowly and saw that the boy had appeared, running towards him swinging something above his head. The two men had come out of the bakery and they saw it too. At first they thought it was some kind of spiked ball on a chain, the sort of thing used by a medieval knight and they were puzzled. Where could he have found a weapon like that?

  Alex had used the knife to cut a length off the washing line he had seen. Then he had looped it around a barrel cactus growing in Razim’s garden, pulling it tight. The cactus was about the same shape and size as the cannonball. It was covered in vicious, yellow spines – dozens of them – and Alex had been careful not to touch it. He knew how much it would hurt. Now Alex swung it round his head once, twice, while Bandage dropped his cigarette and fumbled with his gun. He was too late. Alex released the rope. The cactus flew free.

  The green ball soared across the courtyard and found its target perfectly, hitting Bandage full in the face. It didn’t bounce off or fall to the ground. Instead it hung there, with at least a dozen spikes piercing his lips, his cheeks, the side of his nose and one of his eyes, each one of them injecting its poison into his nervous system. Bandage shouted something. Panicking and momentarily blinded, he fired the rifle but it had been pointing in the air and the bullets went nowhere near Alex. There was a scream from the parapet and the man who had been sent up there fell to his knees, clutching his stomach with blood seeping through his hands. He had taken the full force of the blast. Alex couldn’t believe his luck – but he didn’t stop to congratulate himself. He was already sprinting across the courtyard. He had just a few seconds to reach Bandage before he recovered enough to fire again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other two men running towards him.

  Bandage was sobbing. He looked as if he had an alien growth on his face and he was puncturing his fingers, inflicting more pain on himself as he tried to rip it off. In truth, he had forgotten about Alex. He had dropped the gun. Alex reached him and, leaning backwards so that he didn’t have to come too close, put him out of his misery with a single roundhouse kick. The man and the cactus went down. Alex swept the rifle off the ground and swung round just in time to bring it to aim at the two men who were only a few metres away.

  They stumbled to a halt. Silver Cross and Ant. They looked at each other uncertainly. Alex gripped the gun tighter. He wanted them to believe that he was prepared to use it.

  “Who are you?” Alex demanded. “Why did you come here?”

  There was no answer. Alex pointed the gun at Silver Cross and took aim. “I work for Razim,” the man said, simply.

  “Razim’s dead.”

  “Yes. Because of you. Now we have no jobs. We lose all our money. You take everything from us.”

  So Alex had been right. They had come out here – to hurt him or even kill him – purely out of revenge. He could hardly believe it. Didn’t these people ever give up? At the same time, he wasn’t sure what to do. He had no real interest in them. He certainly wasn’t going to shoot them. Perhaps he could use the gun to persuade them to give him a lift back to Siwa.

  It was the younger of the two who alerted him. Silver Cross hadn’t reacted but Ant suddenly smiled. Why? Alex realized that both of them were looking past him and turned just in time to see that Bandage had recovered and was rushing towards him with a hideous look on his face, a knife in his hand. He had managed to get rid of the barrel cactus, although his flesh was horribly swollen. There was a huge bulge between his nose and his eye and his lips were twice the size they should be, with a few needles still sticking out like tribal ornaments. Alex hadn’t kicked him quite hard enough.

  Alex brought the gun round, pointing it at the ground just in front of him, and squeezed the trigger. He intended to fire a warning shot, to stop him in his tracks. But nothing happened. Either there was some sort of safety catch or the old Lee–Enfield had jammed. He could only watch as Bandage took three more steps and then slashed down with the knife, aiming at his throat.

  There was a single shot. Bandage screamed as his hand became a splash of red and the knife spun away. A second shot and he was thrown onto his back. Alex knew at once that he wouldn’t be getting up again. He turned to see Silver Cross and his friend dropping to their knees, their hands behind their heads, surrendering.

  Four more men had come bursting through the main gate. They looked like soldiers, dressed in desert khaki and carrying automatic pistols and sub-machine guns. For a horrible moment, Alex thought that new trouble had arrived, that they had come for him too. But that couldn’t be the case. They had killed Bandage. They had actually saved him.

  And then a fifth man appeared. He was short and dark, his black hair slicked back with too much oil. He was also dressed in desert khaki, although it somehow didn’t quite suit him and, Alex noticed, he wasn’t carrying any weapons. Rather oddly, there were several gold signet rings on his fingers. They certainly didn’t go with the military uniform. He stomped into the courtyard with a scowl on his face, glanced at the two kneeling men, then went over to Bandage, prodded him with his foot and sniffed. Finally, he seemed to notice Alex, who was still holding the Lee–Enfield. He held out a hand. Alex handed him the gun.

  The man took it. He nodded slowly, then waved one of his fingers, close to Alex’s face.

  “Alex Rider,” he said, in an almost exaggerated Arabic accent. “You are a very naughty boy.”

  FREEZE-FRAME

  Alex knew exactly who the man was. The two of them had met following the attempted assassination of the American Secretary of State just two months before. The man was Colonel Ali Manzour and he was the head of Jihaz Amn al Daoula, the Egyptian State Security Service. He had taken charge of the situation then and presumably had come here to do the same now. Alex wondered how Manzour had found out he was here. Could it be that Edward Pleasure had contacted MI6 after all and that they had in turn informed the Egyptians?

  Alex had barely spoken to Manzour when the two of them were in Cairo. He had been so shocked by what had happened – by the death of Jack – that he’d been in a sort of daze. But now, on this second occasion, he found himself taking a liking to the intelligence chief who was already drawing a cigar out of his top pocket, biting the end off and lighting it. Despite the battledress and gold jewellery, he looked like an overworked teacher and was actually telling Alex off as if he was one.

  “If you were going to come to Egypt, you should have told me first,” he was saying. “We cannot have English schoolboys running around the place killing people, even scum like these. It is against the law and it is very annoying.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” Alex said. Even as he spoke, one of th
e men who had attacked him was carried past on a stretcher. It was the one he had hit with the cannonball.

  “You may not have killed this one,” Manzour agreed. “But I suspect that it will be a long time before he can tie up his shoelaces or even remember his own name.”

  “How did you find me?” Alex asked.

  Manzour blew out smoke and gestured angrily with the cigar. “Do you think I am so stupid that I do not know who is coming in and out of my country? I was alerted by the officer who made the very grave mistake of stamping your passport in the first place.” So that was interesting. MI6 hadn’t been involved after all. “For this act of folly, he shall be sent for six months’ retraining!” Manzour went on. “I hope you were comfortable at the Hotel Neheb. Yes! That is the flea pit in Cairo where you stayed. We looked for you there and when we did not find you I guessed that you must have returned here. I followed you by helicopter … at great expense, I might add. And lucky for you! If I had arrived one minute later you would have been shish kebab!”

  That wasn’t quite true. Even if the Lee–Enfield had jammed, he could still have used it as a club to defend himself. But Alex didn’t argue. “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re welcome.” Manzour didn’t smile.

  “The people who attacked me … they worked for Razim.” Alex watched as Bandage was dragged out feet first, his head and shoulders trailing across the sand.

  “They were nothing but dogs of the gutter,” Manzour snapped. “It was stupid of them to come after you. Now one of them is dead and several of the others are seriously maimed. But forget about them! I hope you are satisfied with yourself, Alex. You have, I am sure, caused great upset to the people who were looking after you in America and you have achieved nothing. What exactly were you hoping to find?”