Point Blanc Page 7

  The horse passed through the end of the tunnel. Alex felt the circle of darkness slip over his shoulders. Fiona was screaming, her arms wrapped around him so tightly that he could barely breathe. He could hardly hear her. The roar of the train was right behind him. As the horse began a desperate race over the bridge, he sneaked a glance round. He just had time to see the huge metallic beast roar out of the tunnel, towering over them, its body painted the brilliant red of the Virgin colours, the driver staring in horror from behind his window. There was a second blast from the train whistle, this one all-consuming, exploding all around them. Alex knew what he had to do. He pulled on one rein, kicking with the opposite foot at the same time. He just hoped the horse would understand what he wanted.

  And somehow it worked. The horse veered round. Now it was facing the side of the bridge. There was a final, deafening blast from the train. Diesel fumes smothered them.

  The horse jumped.

  The train roared past, barely missing them. But now they were in the air, over the side of the bridge. The carriages were still thundering past; a red blur. Fiona screamed again. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion as they fell. One moment they were next to the bridge, a moment later underneath it and still falling. The green river rose up to receive them.

  The horse with its two riders plummeted through the air and crashed into the river. Alex just had time to snatch a breath. He was afraid the water wouldn’t be deep enough, that all three of them would end up with broken bones. But then they had hit the surface and passed through, down into a freezing, dark green whirlpool that sucked at them greedily, threatening to keep them there for ever. Fiona was torn away from him. He felt the horse kick itself free. Bubbles exploded out of his mouth and he realized he was yelling.

  Finally, Alex rose to the surface again. The water was rushing past and, dragged back by his clothes and shoes, he clumsily swam for the nearest bank.

  The train driver hadn’t stopped. Perhaps he had been too frightened by what had happened. Perhaps he wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened at all. The train had gone.

  Alex reached the bank and pulled himself, shivering, onto the grass. There was a splutter and a cough from behind him and Fiona appeared. She had lost her riding hat and her long black hair was hanging over her face. Alex looked past her. The horse had also managed to reach dry land. It trotted forward and shook itself, seemingly unharmed. Alex was glad about that. At the end of the day, the horse had saved both their lives.

  He stood up. Water dripped out of his clothes. There was no feeling anywhere in his body. He wondered if it was because of the cold water or the shock of what he had just been through. He went over to Fiona and helped her to her feet.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She was looking at him strangely. She wobbled and he put out a hand to steady her. “Thank you,” she said.

  “That’s all right.”

  “No.” She held onto his hand. Her shirt had fallen open and she threw back her head, shaking the hair out of her eyes. “What you did back there … it was fantastic. Alex, I’m sorry I’ve been such a beast to you all week. I thought – because you were only here for charity and all the rest of it – I thought you were just an oik. But I was wrong about you. You’re really great. And I know we’re going to be friends now.” She half closed her eyes and moved towards him, her lips slightly parted. “You can kiss me if you like,” she said.

  Alex let go of her and turned away. “Thanks, Fiona,” he said. “But frankly I’d prefer to kiss the horse.”

  SPECIAL EDITION

  The helicopter circled twice over Haverstock Hall before beginning its descent. It was a Robinson R44 four-seater aircraft, American-built. There was only one person – the pilot – inside. Sir David Friend had returned from London and he and his wife came outside to watch it land in front of the house. The engine noise died down and the rotors began to slow. The cabin door slid open and the pilot got out, dressed in a one-piece leather flying suit, helmet and goggles.

  The pilot walked up to them, extending a hand. “Good morning,” she said. “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 this assistant director, as she called herself, left them frozen to the spot. Sir David was the first to recover. “You flew the helicopter yourself?”

  “Yes, I’m qualified.” Mrs Stellenbosch had to shout over the noise of the rotors, which were still turning.

  “Would you like to come in?” Lady Caroline asked. “Perhaps you’d like some tea?”

  She led them into the house and through to the living room, where Mrs Stellenbosch sat, her legs apart, her helmet on the sofa beside her. Sir David and Lady Caroline sat opposite her. Tea was 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 perfect. 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. Point Blanc Academy is our last resort, Mrs Stellenbosch. We’re desperately hoping you can sort him out.”

  The assistant director poked at the air with her cigar, leaving a grey trail. “I’m sure you’ve been a marvellous father, Sir David,” she purred. “But these modern children! It’s heart-breaking the way some of them behave. You’ve done the right thing in coming to us. As I’m sure you know, the academy has had a remarkable success rate over the past eleven 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 sort out all Alex’s problems. Don’t you worry! When he comes home, he’ll be a completely different boy!”

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

  He watched as a combine harvester rumbled slowly towards 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, 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 ag
ent!” 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 DS?” Alex asked.

  “No. That’s just it. The school doesn’t allow Nintendos – 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 for about twenty metres, even if there’s no moon.”

  Smithers reached into the case a third time. “Now, what else would a boy of your age have with him? Fortunately, you’re allowed to take a rather basic 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 the balloon goes up and you need help, just press fast forward three times. It’ll send out a signal which 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.”

  “Yes, well. 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. There was a gold ear-stud lying 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. 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 my ear off,” 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 any young boy leaving for school to be given, and I bought it specially for you.” He had produced a book.

  Alex took it. It was a hardback edition of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. “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 on the spine. 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 in the doorway, 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 quite enjoy having you around!”

  It was time to go.

  Alex’s luggage was being loaded into the helicopter and he was standing next to his “parents” clutching the Harry Potter book. Eva Stellenbosch was waiting for him beneath the rotors. He had been shocked by her appearance and at first he’d tried to hide it. But then he’d relaxed. He didn’t have to be polite. Alex Rider might be well-mannered 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 goodbye to the Friends.

  Once again, Sir David Friend acted his part perfectly. “Goodbye, Alex,” he said. “You will write to us and let us know you’re OK?”

  “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 told him that they would need to stop in Paris to refuel.

  And then Fiona appeared, crossing the lawn towards them. Alex hadn’t spoken to her 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 tell Mrs Stellenbosch that he wasn’t really her brother. 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 here for Alex?” 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 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 colour drained out of her face. She crumpled to the grass.

  Lady Caroline ran over 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 seat 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 was looking tired and disappointed, the Eiffel Tower fighting against a mass of heavy cloud. There was nobody sitting at the tables spread outside the cafés and for once the little kiosks selling paintings and postcards were being ignored by the tourists hurrying back to their hotels. It was five o’clock in the afternoon and the evening was drawing in. 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 dual carriageway that dipped above and below the water level. Their route took them past Notre Dame. Then they turned off, weaving their way th
rough a series of back streets with small restaurants and boutiques fighting for space on the pavements.

  “The Marais,” Mrs Stellenbosch said.

  Alex pretended to show no interest. In fact, he had stayed in the Marais district once before and knew it as one of the smartest and most expensive quarters of Paris.

  The car turned into a large square and stopped. Alex glanced out of 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 to the 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 had taken their cases out of the boot. Alex followed the assistant director towards the entrance, the door sliding open automatically to allow them in. The reception 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 pigeon holes. 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 spoke French almost as soon as he spoke English. Not to mention German and Spanish as well.