Ark Angel (8 page)

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Tired,” Alex replied.

“Was that really you on the roof? I saw it on the news last night.” She went over to the window and raised the blinds. “Everyone’s talking about it—although we’ve all been told we’re not allowed to.” She came back to the bed and slipped a thermometer into his mouth. “And those men who broke in! We all know what you did and we think you’re incredibly brave.”

“ ‘Ank you,” Alex said with difficulty. “I’d watch out, though, if I were you. Dr Hayward’s hopping mad.

He says he didn’t spend hours operating on you just for you to get nearly killed a second time. He’ll be here shortly.” She removed the thermometer and examined it. “Your temperature’s normal, though I’d say it’s the only thing about you that is!”

Later that morning, Dr Hayward came in and he certainly seemed less than cheerful. He gave Alex a thorough check-up, starting with his blood pressure and pulse rate and moving on to examine his wound.

He barely spoke a word as he did it.

“It’s lucky that you keep yourself fit,” he remarked at last. He looked and spoke like a long-suffering headmaster. “All those shenanigans could have caused you serious damage, but it looks as if your stitches have held and you’re generally in one piece.”

“When can I go home?”

“We’ll just keep you here until the end of the day. I’m afraid the people you work for want to speak to you.”

“I don’t work for anyone,” Alex said.

“Well … you know who I mean. Anyway, there’s always a chance your system will react against the beating you’ve given it. So I want you to stay in bed today and I’ll come in and have another look at you after tea.”

He stood up. “And one last thing, Alex. I’m going to prescribe you at least two weeks’ rest and recuperation. I absolutely insist on it.”

“Can I go back to school?”

“I’m afraid not. Just over a week ago you were having major surgery. I know you’ve made an amazing recovery but there are still all sorts of risks—infection and all the rest of it. Two weeks’ holiday, Alex. And no arguments!”

Dr Hayward departed and Alex was left on his own. To kill some time, he went for a walk down the corridor, past room eight. It was empty. Nobody had mentioned Paul Drevin and it seemed that the other boy had gone.

There is nothing worse than being in hospital when you don’t feel you need to be there, and by eleven o’clock Alex was in a bad mood. Jack rang and he told her not to come in; he would see her when she came to collect him. His next visitor arrived just before lunch. It wasn’t the person he had expected.

He had realized that MI6 would want to know what had happened at Hornchurch Towers and that they would send someone to debrief him. He had expected Mrs Jones. But instead it was John Crawley who arrived, dressed in a nasty blue blazer with a crest on the pocket, and holding a box of Roses chocolates.

Crawley had once claimed to be a personnel manager, and Alex still wasn’t quite sure what he did at MI6.

He was in his late thirties with thinning hair and a rather worried-looking face. He looked like the sort of man who counted paperclips and kept his pencils in a special drawer.

He sat down by the bed. “Got you these,” he said, handing over the chocolates.

“Thank you, Mr Crawley.” Now that he was closer, Alex could see that the badge on the jacket belonged to Royal Tunbridge Wells Golf and Croquet Club.

“Mrs Jones apologized for not coming herself. She’s in Berlin. She asked me to find out what’s been going on. The police wanted to talk to you too, but I’ve had a word with them and they won’t be bothering you.

How are you feeling, by the way? We were all very shocked by what happened. I had a run-in with Scorpia about ten years ago and it nearly did for me. Anyway, let’s get back to Force Three. What exactly happened?”

Crawley took out a miniature tape recorder and laid it on the bed. Quickly, Alex took him through the events, starting with the moment the four men had walked into the hospital. It occurred to him that Crawley had let slip a little clue about his past. He too had fought against Scorpia. Had he once been a field agent himself? Alex described the fight in the hospital, his meeting with Kaspar in the derelict flat, the ransom demand and his escape from the fire. Crawley blinked several times as Alex spoke but didn’t interrupt.

“Well, that’s quite an adventure,” he commented, when Alex had finished. “I remember when you and I first met. I could see straight away you were something special. I knew your father. I wasn’t allowed to tell you that before. I worked with him a couple of times.”

“In the field?”

“Yes. That was before…” Crawley ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I got hurt and had to stop. But you’re just like him. Remarkable. Anyway, I have a few questions and then I’ll leave you in peace.” He had turned the tape recorder off; now he switched it back on. “The man who interrogated you. You say he called himself Kaspar. Can you describe him?”

“That’s easy, Mr Crawley. He hasn’t got the sort of face you’d forget.”

“Tattoos?”

“Yes.” Alex described the man who had come so close to removing his little finger.

“And he definitely told you that he represented Force Three.”

“Yes. He talked a lot about global warming and that sort of thing.”

“I would have said he rather added to it by setting fire to the building.”

“I thought so too.”

“What else can you tell me about him? Did he speak with an accent?”

Alex thought back. “I don’t think he was English. He might have had a slight French accent. I’m not sure.”

Crawley nodded. “Just one more question. The other three men in the tower block. You call them Combat Jacket, Spectacles and Silver Tooth. Did you hear any names?”

“No. I’m afraid not.”

“Thank you, Alex.” Crawley pressed a button on the tape recorder. There was a click as it stopped turning.

“So who is Kaspar? Who are Force Three? What was it all about?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well,” Crawley began. “Let’s start with Nikolei Drevin. I suppose you know who he is.”

“I’ve heard of him. He’s a Russian multimillionaire.”

“Born in Russia, yes. But he’s more of a multi-billionaire, as a matter of fact. An absolutely wonderful man.

He lives in England a lot of the time, and he’s made it clear that he likes to think of himself as English.”

“He bought a football club.”

“Stratford East. That’s right. Nobody had ever heard of them but he’s forked out for some of the best players in the world and now they’re in the Premiership. He has a huge place in Oxfordshire, a penthouse near Tower Bridge and houses all over the world. He even has his own island out in the Caribbean.

Flamingo Bay. That’s where the launches take place.”

“Ark Angel,” Alex said.

“Ark Angel is the name of the space hotel that he’s building. It’s being put together piece by piece, and he has to send rockets up every now and then with the next component. You may not know this, Alex, but the British government are partners in the project and it means a great deal to them. The first hotel in space and it’ll be flying a British flag! Ten years from now, commercial space travel will be a reality. In fact, it already is. An American businessman has already gone into outer space. Paid twenty million dollars for the privilege. Once Ark Angel is up and running, more will follow. The most powerful and influential people in the world will be queuing up for tickets, and we’ll be the ones supplying them.”

“Kaspar mentioned outer space,” Alex said. “He didn’t seem too happy about the idea.”

“Kaspar is a fanatic,” Crawley replied. “It’s true that a few wild birds got wiped out on Flamingo Bay when the launch pad was set up. As a matter of fact, there aren’t any flamingos there any more. Friends of the Earth and the World Wildlife Fund got a bit upset about it, but you don’t see them going around murdering people. Force Three’s a different matter.”

“What do you know about them?”

Crawley scowled. “Not a lot. Before this year, nobody had ever heard of them. Then a woman in Germany wrote an article about them in Der Spiegel and a few days later she was shot in the street. The same thing happened in London just over a week ago. A chap by the name of Max Webber denounced them at a conference on international security and got blown up as a result. We’re looking into both deaths right now

—that’s why Mrs Jones is in Berlin. Force Three seems to be something quite new. Eco-terrorists … I suppose that’s what you’d call them. It’s all very alarming.”

“What about Kaspar?”

“Apart from what you’ve told us, we hardly know anything about him.”

“Well, he should be easy enough to catch.” It was something that had puzzled Alex from the start. The tattoos. “With a face like his, you’ll be able to spot him a mile away.”

“At least we know what we’re looking for. As for Drevin, he can take care of himself, I imagine. He’s got plenty of security out on Flamingo Bay. Our real worry is that Force Three might have a crack at Ark Angel.

They’ve already blown up a car manufacturing plant, a research centre and quite a few other installations.

Of course, they’ll have their work cut out. After all, Ark Angel is three hundred miles up in outer space. But none of this is any concern of yours.”

Crawley stood up. “You did a superb job, Alex,” he said. “I’m sure Drevin is enormously grateful. I wouldn’t be surprised if a large cheque didn’t turn up in the post. At the very least, you might get a couple of tickets to see Stratford East play.”

“I don’t want a cheque,” Alex said. “I just want to go home.”

“I hear the doctor says you can leave this evening.” Crawley slid the tape recorder into his pocket. “I’ve stayed long enough,” he said. “Very good to see you, Alex. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

I’m sure we’ll meet again.

Alex remembered the words now as he ate his scrambled eggs. Did Crawley really think he would ever work for MI6 again? If so he was very much mistaken. The strange thing was, he could think of dozens of boys at Brookland School who probably dreamt about being a spy. They’d imagine it would be fun. Alex had discovered the unpleasant reality. He’d been hurt, threatened, manipulated, shot at, beaten up and almost killed. He’d found himself in a world where he couldn’t believe anybody and where nothing was quite what it seemed. And he’d had enough. In two years he would be taking his GCSEs. From now on he was going to keep his head down, and the next time four terrorist kidnappers broke into a hospital he’d simply turn over and go back to sleep!

Jack Starbright had almost finished eating and Alex realized she hadn’t said a word since she had sat down. She’d been very quiet when she picked him up from hospital too.

“Jack, are you angry with me?” he asked. “No,” she said. But the single word told him the exact opposite.

Alex put down his knife and fork. “I’m sorry.” Jack sighed. “I don’t know what to say to you, Alex,” she said. “I’m not sure I can look after you any more.”

“Are you going back to America?”

“No! I don’t know.” She looked at him sadly. “You have no idea what it’s been like for me recently. First you tell me you’re going on vacation in Venice. The next thing I know, you’ve got caught up with some international band of criminals and then you get shot. How do you think I felt when they told me? But somehow you pull through and you’re in hospital, and any other kid would just stay there and get better.

But not you! You have to take on a gang of kidnappers and nearly get killed all over again.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Alex protested. “It just happened.”

“I know. That’s what I tell myself. But the fact is, I feel completely useless.” She fell silent. “And I don’t want to be sitting here next time when they tell me you didn’t make it. I couldn’t bear that.”

Alex went over to her. “There isn’t going to be a next time,” he said. “And you’re not useless, Jack. I don’t know what I’d do without you. There’s no one else to look after me. And it’s not just that. I sometimes think you’re the only person who really knows me. I only feel normal when I’m with you.”

Jack stood up and gave him a hug. “Just my luck,” she said ruefully. “All the fourteen-year-olds in the world, and I end up looking after you.”

The phone rang in the hall.

“I’ll get it,” she said.

Alex took the plates over to the dishwasher and began to stack them. About two minutes later, Jack came back in. There was an odd look on her face.

“Who was it?” he asked.

“It was for you. I don’t believe it! That was Nikolei Drevin.”

“He rang himself?”

“Yes. He’s invited you to have tea with him this afternoon. He’s giving a press conference at the Waterfront Hotel and he wanted to know if you’d come along and meet him afterwards.”

“What did you say?”

“Well, I told him I’d ask you and he said he’d send a car.” She shrugged. “I guess he expected you to say yes.”

Alex thought for a moment. Mr Crawley had said that Drevin would probably get in touch. “Do you think I should go?”

Jack sighed. “I don’t know. I suppose he wants to thank you. After all, you saved him one million pounds.

And you stopped his son getting hurt.”

Alex remembered Paul Drevin. He wondered if the other boy would be at the hotel.

“I could call him back and say you’re too tired,” Jack added.

For a moment, Alex was tempted. The last time he’d met a multimillionaire, it had been Damian Cray—and the experience had nearly killed him. On the other hand, this was different. Drevin was a target. It was the man called Kaspar who was the enemy. And it was fair enough that Drevin should want to meet him after what had happened. Alex felt awkward about saying no.

Sometimes it’s the tiniest things that can mean the difference between life and death. A few centimetres of kerb had saved Alex when he stepped off the pavement on Liverpool Street just as a sniper fired at him.

Now two words were going to drag him back into the world he thought he’d left behind. “Let’s go.”

The Waterfront Hotel was brand new—a silver and glass tower rising above the Thames at St Katharine’s Dock. Looking up the river, Alex could see Tower Bridge with HMS Belfast moored near by. He didn’t look the other way. He was only a few miles from where he’d been held prisoner. He didn’t need any reminder of that.