Ark Angel (19 page)

After the two boys had exhausted themselves with the kite, they flopped down onto the sand and watched as the sun began its descent. It was still very warm. The breeze, blowing gently across the beach, carried the scent of pine and eucalyptus. From this part of the island it was impossible to see the launch pad and the two waiting rockets. A single grey heron perched sedately on the end of the jetty, its eyes fixed on the water, searching for fish. The sailing boats and motor launches bobbed up and down, jostled by the waves.

Alex was lying on his back, enjoying the warmth of the setting sun. He glanced sideways and noticed Paul staring at his bare chest. The scar left by his surgery had healed quickly but it was still very red.

“You must have really hurt yourself,” Paul said.

“Yes.” Alex was reluctant to talk about his fake bicycle accident.

“You’ve got lots of other cuts and bruises too.”

Alex didn’t even look. Every time MI6 had sent him out on a mission, his body had come back with more souvenirs. He sat up and reached for his T-shirt. “I’m starving,” he said, changing the subject. “When’s dinner?”

“Not for another hour. But we can grab a snack, if you like.”

“No. I’ll wait.”

Alex pulled on his shirt. The sun was a perfect disc, cut in half by the edge of the world. The sea had turned blood red.

“Do you like it here?” Paul asked.

“It’s fantastic. Really great.” Alex did his best to inject some enthusiasm into his voice.

“It makes a real change to have someone like you here.” Paul stared at the horizon as if searching for the right words. “It must be awful not to have parents,” he went on. “But you don’t know what it’s like having a dad like mine. He’s got so much money, and everyone knows who he is. But sometimes I think I don’t even know him myself.”

“Do you enjoy being with your mother?” Alex asked. He wanted to steer the conversation away from Drevin.

Paul nodded. “Yes. I wish he’d let me see more of her. And it doesn’t help being on my own all the time. I sometimes wonder what I’m doing in the middle of all this. It would be a lot easier if there was someone else around.”

Alex was feeling increasingly uneasy. Paul had no idea that his entire life was about to self-destruct and that he—Alex—had been sent here to help make it happen. In less than a week’s time, the CIA would arrest his father. All Drevin’s assets would presumably be seized by the American government. Drevin would go to prison.

And what would happen to Paul? The story would be on the front page of every newspaper all over the world. He’d have to change his name. He’d have to begin all over again, adapting to a completely different life. Somehow he’d have to get used to the fact that he was the son of a ruthless criminal. A killer. But none of this was Alex’s fault. He forced himself to remember that. And Paul had a mother who’d be there to look after him when this whole thing exploded. He’d get through it.

The sun had almost disappeared. A great shadow seemed to stretch out across the sea, and Alex watched as the heron flew off, soaring effortlessly over the palm trees. Paradise? Perhaps the bird knew otherwise.

Alex stood up. “Let’s go in,” he said.

They walked along the beach together, the waves lapping softly near by.

On the other side of the island, another conversation was taking place.

The head of security, Magnus Payne, was standing in a large office overlooking the launch site.

Drevin was sitting on a leather sofa, reading the email that Payne had just handed him.

“Alex Rider is an MI6 agent,” Payne was saying. “He may not be working for them now, but he has certainly worked for them in the past—and not once but several times. If they know he is here, it is quite possible that they have already approached him and asked him to spy on you. I have searched his luggage and found nothing. But that does not mean he isn’t equipped in some way.”

Drevin lowered the email. “It’s not possible!” His fingers began to play with his ring. “A spy? He’s fourteen!”

“I agree, of course, that it is unusual.” Payne’s lips twisted in a sneer. “But I can assure you, Mr Drevin, that my contact is completely reliable. After what happened at the hospital, then at Hornchurch Towers and a third time at Stamford Bridge, I felt that the boy was simply too good to be true. There was something about him … so I made enquiries.” He gestured at the email. “That’s the result.”

“The bicycle accident?”

“In fact a bullet wound from his last assignment. That’s what my contact tells me.”

Drevin fell silent. Payne could see his mind at work, turning over the possibilities, making evaluations. It was all there in the watery grey eyes.

“That business with the passport in New York,” he said. He snapped his fingers angrily and swore briefly in Russian. “They must have wanted to make contact with him. He was out of my sight for nearly twenty-four hours. They could have been briefing him, telling him what to do.”

“They?”

“The Central Intelligence Agency.” Drevin spoke the words with loathing. “They’re hand in hand with MI6. The boy could be working with either of them. Or both.”

“The question is, what do you want to do with him?”

“What do you suggest?”

“He’s dangerous. He shouldn’t be here. Not now.”

“We could send him away.”

“Or we could kill him.”

Drevin thought for a little longer. He barely seemed to breathe. Magnus Payne waited patiently.

“You’re right,” Drevin said suddenly. “Paul won’t be too happy about it, but that can’t be helped. See to it tomorrow, Mr Payne.”

He got to his feet.

“Kill him.”

It was another perfect day. Alex Rider was eating breakfast with Drevin and his son on a terrace perched on the edge of the sea, the waves lapping below them. A servant—all the staff had been brought in from Barbados—had served them cold meat, fruit, cheese and freshly baked rolls. There was a jug of Blue Mountain coffee from Jamaica, one of the most delicious and expensive blends in the world. This was the millionaire lifestyle, all right. A stunning house, a private island, Caribbean sunshine … a snapshot of another world.

Drevin was in an unusually good mood. It was the day before the launch and Alex could sense his excitement. “What have you boys got planned for today?”

“Do you want to take the kite out again?” Paul asked Alex. “There might be a bit more wind.”

Alex nodded. “Sure.”

“Why don’t you do some waterskiing?” Drevin suggested.

“We could do that too.” Paul was obviously pleased that his father was taking an interest. It seemed to Alex that if Drevin had suggested a sandcastle competition, the other boy would have agreed.

Drevin turned to Alex. “Have you ever dived?”

“Yes.” Alex had been a qualified diver since he was twelve.

“Then why don’t you go out this afternoon? We have all the equipment you need—and you can visit the Mary Belle.” Alex looked puzzled. Drevin went on. “It’s an old transport ship; it was sunk in the Second World War while carrying supplies to the American bases in the Caribbean. Now it’s an excellent dive site.

You can swim into some of the holds.”

Alex had been on wreck dives before. He knew that there was nothing more strangely beautiful, more eerie, than the ghost of an old ship. He turned to Paul. “Do you want to come?”

“I can’t,” Paul said. “My asthma…”

“Scuba is one of the many things Paul is unable to do,” Drevin said. “But I can ask one of the guards to be your buddy. It would be a shame not to see it.”

“Don’t let me stop you, Alex,” Paul added. “Everyone says the Mary Belle is amazing, and I’ve got some homework I’m supposed to do. So you go ahead.”

At that moment, Tamara Knight appeared on the terrace, dressed in a linen jacket and trousers with a pair of sunglasses dangling around her neck. She was carrying a bulging file.

“You’ve got some important correspondence to deal with, Mr Drevin,” she said.

“Thank you, Miss Knight. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.” Drevin nodded at Alex. “Enjoy the dive,” he said, and went into the house.

“You’re diving?” Tamara asked. She sounded surprised.

“Yes.” Alex wasn’t sure what to say.

“Where?”

“The Mary Belle.”

“Oh yes.” Tamara still wasn’t smiling. “You’d better be careful. I understand it’s very deep. And I hope you don’t see any sharks.”

After breakfast, Alex went back up to his room to fetch his trunks. The shutters had been drawn back and the windows were wide open. He had a spectacular view of the whole of Little Point. Looking out, Alex saw Drevin standing by his buggy, talking into some sort of phone. Alex thought for a moment, then went over to his case and drew out the iPod Smithers had given him. He put on the headphones, turned it on, then pointed the screen in Drevin’s direction. Almost at once, he heard Drevin’s voice. It was so clear, he could have been standing right next to him.

“…for the final preparations. I am going over everything again today. I want all the programming to be double-checked.” A pause. “The boat is coming in tonight at eleven. Not at Little Point. The western tip of the island, behind the launch site. I’ll be waiting for it there…”

There was a movement at the door. It was Paul. “What are you doing, Alex?” he asked. Alex took off the headphones. “Nothing.” Paul saw the iPod. “Are you taking that down to the beach?”

“No. I’m just checking it’s working.” The two of them left together. For the rest of the morning they swam and snorkelled and went out with the kite. This time there was a little more wind and Paul taught Alex a few tricks—jumps and the handle pass. But Alex found it hard to concentrate. All he could think about was the conversation he’d overheard. A boat was arriving that night at eleven. Why? Drevin obviously didn’t want it to be seen. That was why he wasn’t using the jetty near the house. Could it be that he was planning to leave, and, if so, should Alex alert the CIA now? No. It was too soon. Better to get over to the other side of the island once darkness had fallen and see for himself. That was the reason he was here. It would mean slipping past the checkpoint, but of course, he couldn’t swim round.

Alex remembered what the head of security had told him. There was razor wire concealed in the water.

There had to be another way.

Lunch was at one o’clock: delicious shrimp roti served with salad and rice. Then they rested for an hour, avoiding the worst heat of the sun. At half past three there was a knock on Alex’s door and a young black man appeared, wearing the grey overalls of the security staff.

“Mr Rider?” he asked.

Alex got to his feet. “I’m Alex.”

“My name is Kolo. Mr Drevin said you needed a diving buddy.”

“That’s right.”

“You a certified diver?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go!”

Paul wasn’t around. Alex followed Kolo outside and down to an equipment store underneath the house. It was a large room, a cross between a garage and a boathouse. Here there was spare equipment for the various boats, a few nets and, in a separate area, scuba tanks, BCDs, wetsuits, fins and everything else needed to go diving.

“The water’s warm out there,” Kolo said as he hauled out a couple of tanks. “But the Mary Belle is deep, about twenty-two metres. So I’m going to give you a half-body wetsuit and I’ll check out some weights.”

Half an hour later, Alex was dressed in a bright blue neoprene wetsuit that came down to his thighs and halfway down his arms. Kolo was dressed in black. Carrying his equipment, Alex staggered out onto the beach, where a boat with a Bajan skipper was waiting to take the two of them out to sea.

“Good luck, Alex!”

Alex turned to see Paul Drevin standing on the terrace above him, waving. He waved back, then climbed into the boat.

The journey only took a few minutes. In that time, Alex went over his equipment, running through the usual checks. His mask fitted. The BCD was brand new. He turned on his air supply and checked his gauge. He had been given just under 3,000 psi. Alex made a quick calculation. The deeper he went, the more air he’d use. But he was a light breather. At twenty-two metres, the depth of the Mary Belle, he guessed he would have a bottom time of at least half an hour.

He noticed Kolo watching him as he finished his preparations. Alex had been looking forward to visiting the wreck, but suddenly he felt uncomfortable. He had been diving many times with his uncle and once with friends, and each time it had been a happy, sociable affair. Now he was in a boat with a captain who hadn’t said a word and a buddy who had barely spoken either. Two hired hands taking the rich kid for a ride. For a moment, he understood the loneliness that Paul must have felt all his life.

The boat slowed down and the anchor was lowered. The captain raised a flag—red with a white stripe—

signalling that there were divers in the area. Kolo helped Alex put on his equipment. Then it was time for the briefing.

“The Mary Belle is right underneath us,” Kolo told him. “We’ll enter the water over this side and then if everything’s all right, we’ll go straight down. The sea’s a little choppy today and visibility’s not so good, but you’ll soon see the wreck. We’ll start at the stern. You can see the rudder and propeller. Then we’ll swim up the deck and into the second hold. There’s plenty of fish down there. Glassfish, hatchetfish, groupers—maybe you’ll be lucky and see a shark. I’ll signal when it’s time to come back up. Any questions?”

Alex shook his head.

“Then let’s do it.”

Alex drew his mask over his face, checked his respirator one last time, then sat on the edge of the boat with his hands crossed over his chest. Kolo gave him a thumbs up and he tipped over backwards, splashing down into the sea. It was a moment which he always enjoyed, feeling his shoulders pushing through the warm water, rolling in a cocoon of silver bubbles with the fractured light high above. Then his BCD, partly inflated, dragged him back to the surface. He was bobbing in the water, face to face with Kolo. The captain was watching them over the pulpit rail.

“All right?” Kolo shouted.

Alex gave him the universal diver’s sign: finger and thumb forming an O, the other three fingers pointing up. Everything OK.