Authors: Anthony Horowitz
Tags: #Europe, #Law & Crime, #Family, #Action & Adventure, #Juvenile Fiction, #Orphans & Foster Homes, #General, #People & Places, #Mysteries & Detective Stories, #Terrorism, #Fiction, #Orphans, #Spies, #Middle East
Scorpia Rising (24 page)
“Take a seat.” Lewinsky gestured at the chair.
“I’m okay standing.”
“You want to quit wisecracking and do as you’re told? I can make this much, much worse for you.”
“Why don’t you tell me who you are?”
Franklin and the other man exchanged a look, but Lewinsky didn’t blink. “You’re the one who’s going to answer the questions,” he said. “Now sit down!”
Alex went over to the chair. He sat down and watched with a mixture of curiosity and disgust as Lewinsky leaned down and pulled off Alex’s damp socks and shoes. Meanwhile, Franklin closed the door. Lewinsky straightened up and stood in front of him. Alex’s clothes were sticking to him. His bare feet dangled over the floor.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” he said. “What were you doing at the House of Gold?”
“What do you think I was doing?” Alex replied. “I’m a schoolboy. I go to the Cairo College of Arts and Education. You can call them if you don’t believe me. I was buying a present for my teacher.”
“Right—let’s get one thing straight and cut this out,” Lewinsky interrupted. “I know exactly who you are. You’re not a schoolboy . . . or at least, you may be. But you’re also a spy working for the British secret service. Your name is Alex Rider. So let me ask you again. What are you doing here in Cairo? Why were you on that boat?”
Alex’s head spun. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond. These people knew who he was. But how? Cairo Islamic Authority. Who were they?
“Look . . . I don’t know who you people are or what you want,” Alex said. “But I’ve got nothing to tell you.” He sighed. There didn’t seem any point holding information back. They would beat it out of him anyway. And why should he suffer in silence to protect MI6? It wasn’t as if he had chosen to work for them. “I was following someone,” he said. “A man named Erik Gunter. He’s the head of security at the Cairo International College of Arts and Education.”
“Why were you following him?”
“To see where he went!” Alex couldn’t resist the answer but immediately regretted it, seeing Lewinsky’s face darken. “There’s a possible threat against the school,” he went on. “I thought Gunter might be part of it. I heard him talking on the phone and he led me to the House of Gold.”
“And then?”
“He went into a shop. It was full of old weapons. I went in after him and there was a dead man there. I think Gunter must have shot him.”
“Describe this dead man.”
Alex did the best he could. “He was old. He had gray hair. To be honest with you, I didn’t look at him that closely. There was a lot of blood.”
“Habib,” Franklin muttered. “Habib’s dead?”
“That’s right. I saw the body and I left the room, and about ten seconds later the whole ship blew up. That’s all I know—and if you want to interrogate anyone, you should be looking for Gunter. I can give you his address if you like. It might stop you from wasting your time with me.”
Lewinsky considered for a moment. Alex could almost see the thought processes unwinding behind his eyes. At last he came to a conclusion and Alex knew at once that it was the wrong one. “You’re working for MI6,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Why are you in Cairo?”
“I’ve already told you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Suddenly Alex had had enough. “Then why don’t you go and——yourself.” He spat out the swearword. “What’s the point in asking me questions if you don’t believe the answers?”
“You can make us believe you.”
“And how do I do that?”
Lewinsky must have given a signal. The other two men grabbed hold of Alex and pulled him to his feet. There was nothing he could do. They were much stronger than him. The two of them hauled him over to the table and forced him down on his back. Then, while Franklin held him, the man with no name tied his ankles, arms, and chest, drawing the belts tight. When they stepped back, Alex couldn’t move. He was lying at a slant with his bare feet slightly above his head. Meanwhile, Lewinsky had filled the bucket with water from the tap. It was the last thing Alex saw. A moment later, a black hood was drawn over his head, blocking his sight and much of his air.
And with a surge of panic that he couldn’t hold back, Alex knew what they were going to do. He knew what this was called. Waterboarding. It was a method of torture that American soldiers had supposedly used in Guantánamo Bay, one that they favored because it left no bruises or signs of injury. And yet it was horribly effective. Alex had read somewhere that a grown man was unlikely to last more than fourteen seconds before he begged to tell his inquisitors everything.
Effectively, they were going to drown him.
“I want to know why you’re here and what really happened on that boat.” Lewinsky’s voice was muffled. It came out of nowhere.
“I’ve told you!” Alex shouted through the cloth.
“You haven’t told me anything. But you will . . .”
Alex felt the extra weight as a towel was laid across his face. Desperately he shook his head from side to side, trying to throw it off, but then two hands clamped down on him, holding him still. Alex’s hands curled. All the muscles in his legs and abdomen loosened as sheer terror took control. And then the first drops of water were poured onto the towel. He felt the dampness against his face and then, immediately afterward, the first symptoms of suffocation. He couldn’t breathe. Worse than that. His lungs were tearing themselves apart, his whole body trying to swallow itself. He was going mad.
“What the hell is going on in here? What do you think you’re doing?”
It was a new voice, coming from somewhere miles away. Alex tried to scream. No sound came out. He honestly thought he was about to die.
“Get that thing off him!”
There was a hand scrabbling at his face. The towel had gone. The mask was torn off and light and air hit him at the same time. Alex was gasping. His mouth was wide open. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to survive a second more.
A man loomed over him, and at that moment Alex knew exactly where he was and who these people were. He would almost have laughed if he hadn’t still been in shock. Of course he should have recognized the sign. In Miami, they had been Centurion International Advertising. In New York it was Creative Ideas Animation. And here—Cairo Islamic Authority. Always the same initials. CIA. The man’s name was Joe Byrne. He was black, in his sixties, with white hair and the earnest, caring face of a family doctor about to give bad news. Alex had met with him twice before and, despite everything, knew him as a decent man, one who was usually on his side.
“Alex, I don’t know what to say,” Byrne exclaimed. The belts had already been untied and Alex had been helped to sit upright. “I only just heard what was going on.”
“Sir—,” Lewinsky began.
“Save it for the court-martial, Lewinsky,” Byrne snapped. “God in heaven! What did you three think you were doing? This is a kid!”
“He’s a British spy!” Lewinsky insisted.
“He’s on our side. He’s helped us on two separate occasions. If it wasn’t for Alex Rider, Washington, DC, would no longer be there. Get out of here! I don’t want to see you right now. I’ll talk to you later!” The three men left. Byrne turned back to Alex. “Are you feeling strong enough to get out of here?” he asked. “Or do you need more time?”
“I’m fine.” Alex was still in shock, but he slid himself off the table and picked up his shoes and socks.
Byrne waited until he’d put them on. “Let’s get some coffee in my office,” he suggested.
He led Alex out of the bell room and back to the elevator. This time they took it up to the ground floor, neither of them speaking. Alex guessed that Byrne was giving him a few moments to recover . . . or maybe he was still fuming with anger himself. This time the doors opened into a more comfortable area with a reception desk, potted plants, mirrors, and chandeliers. “We rent this place from the Egyptian government,” Byrne explained. “Half of it is pretty run-down, but the rest of it is fine for our needs. This way . . .”
Byrne’s office was on the same level, with smoked glass blocking the view outside. Alex remembered his office in Miami. This one was almost exactly the same, with fairly standard furniture, a thick-pile carpet, a picture of the American president on the wall. The CIA had offices all over the world and they were probably all identical. Byrne waved Alex to a seat, then picked up the phone and ordered two coffees. He sat down himself.
“First of all, I’m sorry about Blake Lewinsky,” Byrne began. “He’s not actually a bad agent, but this new breed . . . they’re young and they have no sense of proportion. Ever since 9/11, you only have to whisper the word
terrorism
and everyone starts behaving like Nazis or fascists. But this time he went too far. I swear to you, Alex, I’ll have him sent back to Langley and he’ll end up working in the canteen!”
terrorism
and everyone starts behaving like Nazis or fascists. But this time he went too far. I swear to you, Alex, I’ll have him sent back to Langley and he’ll end up working in the canteen!”
“Forget it,” Alex said. “He didn’t hurt me.”
“He would have if I hadn’t arrived in time.” Byrne sighed. “I’m afraid there are some things I have to ask you . . .”
“There’s not much I can tell you,” Alex said. “But first I’d like to call Jack Starbright, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. Be my guest.”
Byrne handed Alex the phone and he dialed Jack’s mobile. It rang several times, then went to voice mail. That worried Alex. There were plenty of areas in Cairo where it was impossible to get a signal, but he wouldn’t be able to relax until he had spoken to her. “Jack,” he said. “It’s me. I’m okay. I’ll meet you back at the apartment.” He didn’t want to add any more with Byrne in the room. He hung up.
The door opened and a young woman came in with two cups of coffee and a plate of cookies. She set them down and left again.
“You know, Alex, I can’t believe you’re out here,” Byrne began. “Don’t tell me Alan Blunt persuaded you to work for him again!”
Alex didn’t answer. He trusted Byrne, but he also felt uneasy being trapped between two intelligence services. He would have to be careful what he said.
“So why are you here, Alex?”
“Why don’t you start by telling me what you’re up to?” Alex replied. “Why were your men watching the House of Gold? And who is Habib?”
“Did you meet with him?”
“No. One of your men asked me about him. But by the time I saw him, he was already dead.”
“You didn’t shoot him?” It was impossible to say if Byrne was joking or not.
“Of course I didn’t.”
Byrne nodded. “I believe you. This whole thing is a mess. It’s just a miracle that no one from that paddle ship was killed. Apart from Habib, that is.” He paused. “All right, Alex. I’ll tell you what’s going on. I guess I owe you that much. But if you’re involved—you and MI6—I want to know. Is that a deal?”
“Sure.” Alex helped himself to a coffee.
“Okay. We’re out here because the secretary of state is arriving this weekend. I don’t know how acquainted you are with American politics, but our secretary of state is like your foreign secretary. You could say she’s number two after the president . . . In fact, there are a lot of people who say she could be the next president. She’s outspoken and she’s hard-line but she’s also very popular. And she’s about to give a speech in Cairo.”
Byrne took his own coffee. He looked uncomfortable about what he was about to say, unsure whether he should give away his secrets, but then he made up his mind and went on. “This is all being hushed up at the moment, but the speech is all about power. Who are the big hitters in the world right now? When it comes to talking about the big issues—nuclear weapons, war, terrorism—who should be sitting at the top table? Up to now, it’s always been the Americans, you British, the Europeans, and so on. But there are new powers in the world. The Chinese. India. She thinks it’s time to make a few changes. And—you’re not going to like this, Alex—she doesn’t think the Brits have a place anymore.”
“It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other,” Alex said.
“No, of course not. Why should it? But it’s going to make a lot of your politicians very angry. If you ask me, the secretary of state is playing politics. It’s coming up to election time and there’s a lot of anti-British feeling in the States right now. You remember that big oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico? And then there was that secret deal with Libya. A speech like this is going to make all the right headlines . . . for her. She’s way out of line. Even the president has tried to draw her in. But she’s going ahead anyway.”
“How does Habib fit into this?”
“I’m coming to him. Our job is to protect the secretary of state while she’s in Cairo. It doesn’t matter what she’s doing or saying. That’s got nothing to do with us. We’re just here—we’ve been here for two weeks now—to look after her. And a few days ago we got a tip-off that somebody might take a shot at her, to prevent her from making the speech.”
“Habib?”
“That was just one of the names he used. Mostly he was just known as the Engineer. He sold weapons, Alex. Very precise, high-caliber weapons such as sniper rifles. Actually, he’d provide you with anything from a samurai sword to a hand grenade. But he was a craftsman. Everything he supplied was deadly accurate. Now do you begin to get the picture? We get a tip-off. We know that the Engineer is in town, so we start to watch him. And then, four days before our secretary of state is about to make a big anti-British speech, a British secret agent turns up and—boom—there’s an explosion and Habib is dead.”
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