The office—like Room 6—was unlocked. Alex went in quickly, flicked the light on, and closed the door behind him. The first thing he saw was the human skeleton dangling on its wire frame in the corner. A warning? Alex briefly examined the different bones. A thought occurred to him. He was alone and he was unarmed. The skeleton might just come in useful . . .
It took him less than a minute to do what he had in mind. After that, he went over to the second door and opened it. To his annoyance, it only led into a small bathroom, and although there was a cabinet above the sink, it didn’t contain anything apart from a toothbrush, a bar of soap, and a small pair of nail scissors. He took the scissors anyway.
He was about to leave when he caught sight of himself in a mirror above the sink—it was the first time he had seen himself since he had arrived at the abbey. He looked drawn and thin, probably a result of the drugs he had been given. The bandage was still wrapped around his head. He had forgotten all about it. On an impulse, he tore it off. There was no wound, no mark of any sort under his hairline or anywhere else. Alex wasn’t even surprised. The bandage had only been placed there as part of the charade.
He went back into the office and examined the desk. Dr. Feng liked to keep the place neat. There was almost nothing on the surface. Just two pencils and a notepad. No computer and no phone. Quickly, he rummaged through the drawers. He found more papers, including a typed-up transcript of his own three sessions in the room. Alex was wasting time, and he was about to leave when, quite suddenly, a phone began to buzz. The ringer had been turned off but it was still making enough of a sound for him to know that it was somewhere near.
Quickly, he threw open the drawers, trying to find it. He couldn’t see it. He pulled out a whole stack of letters. Photographs. Then a clinical report, “On the Use of Sodium Pentathol in Advanced Interrogation.” He took it out, meaning to glance through the pages but in doing so had revealed an iPhone, concealed underneath. It was his own. He recognized it instantly, sitting in its protective silicone case with his own initials written in blue pen. There was a large slab of chocolate next to it and Alex remembered that Crawley had brought the chocolate with him to the air base. At the time, he had been amazed at the way the MI6 man thought. You’ve just saved the world . . . I’ve brought you some sweets. But that didn’t matter now. He snatched the phone and answered just in time.
“Hello?” he said, hardly daring to believe that he might finally have made contact with the outside world.
“Alex? Is that you?”
He knew the voice at once. “Jack!”
“My God, Alex. I’ve been trying to reach you all week. I’ve been so worried about you. Mrs. Jones told me that you were back safely from Russia or somewhere and that she’d sent someone to collect you. When you didn’t show up, I called her, but she wouldn’t tell me anything. I knew something was wrong, but . . . honestly! Those people!”
“I’m safe, Jack. But I need help.”
“Where are you?”
“Don’t say another word. Put the phone down. If you speak one more word, I will shoot you.”
Alex turned around. Karl, the security man who had also driven the car into the circus truck, was standing a short distance away, holding an ugly semiautomatic pistol, trained on Alex. Alex hadn’t heard him come into the room. He was still holding his phone. It was inches away from his mouth. He desperately wanted to say the two words—Bellhanger Abbey—that would lead Jack to him, but he knew he didn’t dare. Karl meant business. There was an ugly glimmer in his eyes and he was holding the gun very still, prepared to shoot. Alex cursed himself. He shouldn’t have let Jack speak so long. Of course she had been surprised to hear from him. And he’d been overjoyed to hear her voice. But he should have told her where he was straightaway.
Now it was too late. He clicked the phone off and placed it on the desk. Karl took two steps forward, closer to Alex. He was smiling unpleasantly. “That was sensible, kid. Now step away from the desk.”
Alex did as he was told.
Karl took a step forward and brought his gun slamming down onto Alex’s phone, smashing it. “They should have done that from the start,” he said. He examined Alex. “It looks to me like someone hasn’t been taking their medicine,” he sneered. “What happened to your bandage? Dr. Feng’s not going to be very happy with you. My guess is that very soon you’re going to be transferred to intensive care.”
“Who are you?” Alex demanded. “I know this place isn’t a hospital. It’s got nothing to do with MI6. And you owe me a new iPhone.”
“You can take that up with the doctor!” Karl was mocking him. “He’ll be here any minute. Right now I’m going to take you back to your room.” He gestured with the gun. “After you, kid.”
Alex walked toward the door, at the same time reaching behind him with his right hand. Karl didn’t see the movement. Nor had he noticed that before he’d come in, Alex had removed one of the bones from the skeleton—the tibia, which ran from the knee to the foot. It was solid and heavy and had been tucked into the waistband of his tracksuit. As he passed the security man, he withdrew it, then turned and, in a single movement, smashed it into the side of his neck. Karl cried out. Alex hit him a second time, harder. He felt the bone shudder in his hand. It was enough. Karl slumped to the floor and stayed there.
Alex snatched up the gun. He didn’t like firearms, but there was no way he was going to leave it behind. Dr. Feng was on his way back. Karl wouldn’t stay unconscious long. He had to get out of Bellhanger Abbey fast, and although he’d figured out a way, he was still fairly certain he was committing suicide.
There was only one way to find out. Alex ran out of the room, making for the stairs.
The first thing he needed was a fishing rod.
10
IN THE RAIN
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, DR. Feng arrived back in his orange Lada. It had begun to rain, lightly at first, but now the clouds had opened and it was pouring down. Karl had recovered and had made his way out to meet him. The two of them stood there, getting wetter and wetter, shouting above the noise of the falling water.
“What happened?” Feng demanded.
“I found him in your office. He hit me.” There was a huge bruise on Karl’s forehead. Blood was trickling down over one eye.
“Where is he now?”
“We’re searching the building. He has to be inside. The gate has been locked and the electric fence is in operation. The dog is out here. There’s no way he can get away.”
There was a flash of lightning and Dr. Feng howled, bringing up his fists to cover his eyes. He didn’t wear his dark glasses at night and the brilliant light had caught him unawares. “This entire operation is a catastrophe!” he screamed. Rain dripped down the sides of his face and off his beard. There was something frog-like about him, standing there, drenched. “The boy must have guessed—and he’s stopped taking the drug! Somehow he’s managed to escape. This is your fault, Karl. You’ll pay for this.”
A third figure joined them, fighting her way through the downpour under an umbrella. It was the woman who called herself Nurse Wendy. “There’s no sign of him anywhere,” she screeched, fighting against the clamor of the storm.
“What about the agent—Crawley?”
“Still asleep. I told you the dose was too high! He can’t even talk.”
“This is a disaster.” Dr. Feng might have been crying. It was hard to tell with so much water streaming down his face. He collected himself. “All right! Change of plan! Find the boy and kill him. That’s all that matters now. Tell the guards to shoot on sight.”
“I’ve already told them that,” Karl exclaimed.
“Did he say anything to the woman on the phone?”
“No.”
“There’s still a chance that MI6 will manage to trace the call. We’re moving out of here. We’ll take Crawley with us and begin his int
errogation in one of our other locations. But we can’t do anything until the boy has been neutralized. Find him. Kill him. Tell me when it’s done!”
There was an explosion of thunder and another brilliant flash of lightning. Dr. Feng screamed and, covering his eyes, staggered blindly into the building, leaving the others to continue the search.
11
OVER AND OUT
ALEX HAD FOUND WHAT he wanted in the common room.
When Nurse Wendy had shown him around the abbey, she told him that Dr. Feng liked to go fishing, and there were actually three rods ready for use, each one of them brand-new and state-of-the-art, with graphite bodies and titanium oxide guides. These were specialist bass and catfish rods, for use in the lake . . . but fishing was the last thing Alex had in mind. It had taken him only a moment to loosen and then remove the aluminum spools. Each one of them came complete with at least three hundred feet of line. He had taken all of them, racing back up to the first floor and along to the spiral staircase.
He knew that Feng and the others were looking for him. He could hear the guards shouting at each other somewhere in the distance. As he continued forward, he caught sight of someone coming toward him and ducked into a doorway just as Ivan, the orderly who had always brought his food, came rushing past. Alex was lucky that the corridor was dark. The two of them missed each other by inches.
Alex pressed on, through the archway and up the stone stairs. The security office would be manned, of course. The two men that he had met earlier would be on full alert. But he had a gun . . . even if he was reluctant to use it. Hopefully, showing it to them would be enough.
In fact, only one of the men—the one with the twisted lips—was in the security office. He looked up as Alex came bursting in, the three fishing reels grasped in one hand, the gun in the other.
“Get out of your chair,” Alex said. “Keep both your hands in sight. If you try anything, I’ll shoot you. I mean it.”
The man got up slowly. “You’re wasting your time,” he said. “You should give yourself up before you get hurt.”
Alex looked around him. His eyes settled on the metal cupboard. He opened it. There were a couple of jackets hanging there and about a dozen wire hangers but nothing else. It was perfect. “I want you to get in here,” he said.
“You might have to shoot me first.”
Very casually, Alex brought the gun around and fired, knowing that the thick walls and the height of the tower would muffle most of the sound. He had intended merely to hit the floor, but quite by accident, the bullet found its target barely an inch from the man’s foot. A splinter of wood stabbed into his ankle. The guard leapt up, all the color draining from his face. “All right! All right!” he exclaimed. “No need to get nasty!”
He hurried into the cupboard.
Alex slammed the door. He had taken out several of the wire coat hangers and he used one to secure the handles, twisting it around. The guard might be able to force his way out, but by then, Alex would be long gone. Fortunately, he had seen what he was looking for, the second part of his plan. It was sitting on the console, with the joystick beside it.
The Crow.
Alex’s best friend, Tom Harris, had a drone and the two of them had often played with it in Battersea Park, flying it over the Peace Pagoda and the River Thames. They’d always been nervous about getting into trouble, as drones were increasingly prohibited all over London, particularly near airports, and the Battersea Helipad was only a short distance away. The moment Alex had seen the Crow, he’d had a vision of using it to fly himself out of here. He couldn’t cling on to it, of course. The maximum weight that a drone like this could carry (he had read about Amazon using drones to deliver packages) was about five pounds. But if he was careful, if he took his time, he could use it nonetheless.
First of all, he pulled out the ends of the fishing lines from all three aluminum spools and tied them to the camera underneath the Crow. Then he took everything outside to the balcony where he had stood only a short time before. He saw that the searchlights had been turned on. The entire area between the abbey and the perimeter fence had been floodlit. It was still raining, but for now the thunder and the lightning had stopped. Dressed only in the tracksuit he had been given, Alex was quickly soaked and he wished he had thought to take the guard’s jacket before he had locked him up.
Ignoring the muffled thumping and the shouts coming from the cupboard, he went back for the joystick. He guessed it would work exactly the same way as Tom’s—weren’t all drones more or less identical?—with one switch to go up and down, the other to go left and right. Of course, he would have preferred a bit of time to get used to the machine’s sensitivity, to work out how quickly it responded to his commands. Unfortunately, time was something he didn’t have. He heard Brutus barking. The searchlights were crisscrossing the grass. Any moment now, Feng’s people would notice that the security office had become completely silent and would be running up to find out what was going on. He had to do this now.
He had set the drone down on the edge of the stone banister. Now he lifted the joystick and activated it. At once, the propellers began to turn. So far, so good. Alex did his best to put everything out of his mind: the lights blazing, the men searching for him all over the abbey, the security guard locked in the cupboard, trying to break out, the possibility that one or more of his colleagues might arrive at any time. All that mattered was the dark black metal and plastic machine in front of him. He pressed on one of the controls, accelerating the propellers, and the Crow lurched into the air, more like a drunken animal than a bird. Alex gritted his teeth as it toppled to one side, seemingly about to crash into the wall of the tower, but at the last moment, desperately manipulating with his thumbs, he was able to hold it steady. The Crow continued upward, carrying the three nylon fishing lines with it. When it was a couple of yards above his head, he paused, examining the lines that glinted in the light and the rain. Taking a deep breath, he guided the drone away from the tower. The three lines had somehow woven themselves together into one. They stretched out, high above the ground.
Now came the difficult bit. The drone had crossed the electric fence, still trailing the triple fishing line. It hovered over the jetty. Alex pressed down, lowering it, then cursed as it dipped too far, briefly out of control. Forcing himself not to panic, not to try and rush things, he steadied it, then guided it around the hoist that stood at the water’s edge, effectively looping the line around it. Behind him, he could hear the guard pounding at the metal cupboard, but the twisted metal coat hanger seemed to be holding up. Far below and out of sight, the dog was barking frantically as if it alone knew what was going on. The lights were fanning out left and right, desperately searching for any movement but not looking in the one direction that would have revealed all. Alex had steered the drone over the L shape formed by the top of the hoist and its outstretched arm. It was hard to be certain, with the rain driving into his face. With one sodden sleeve, he wiped water away from his eyes. Had he done it? He was about to find out.
He stabbed sideways with his thumb, pressing the control on the joystick and bringing the drone back to him, the three reels still emptying their load. Effortlessly, the drone soared up and across toward the tower, a good Crow returning to its master. Drops of rain splattered off the black plastic. Now there were no fewer than six lines trailing behind it: three going out, three coming back. He would need that extra strength. The drone hovered in front of him. Alex brought it gently down. All three spools were empty. Alex saw that he had used almost all the line; there couldn’t have been more than a few inches left. But he had achieved what he wanted. He had connected the tower and the jetty, using what must have been the thinnest bridge in the world.
Would it hold his weight? Again, Alex remembered his uncle. Ian Rider had often gone fishing and had done his best to persuade Alex to come with him, although Alex had never seen the point of killing any an
imals in the name of sport. Even so, Ian had talked about his equipment. Alex knew that fishing lines were given test ratings that could be as low as two or as much as four hundred pounds. He didn’t know if these lines were monofilament or braided, and they probably had a diameter of no more than 0.015 inches. But he was fairly sure they’d been designed for big fish . . . Nurse Wendy had mentioned catfish, which might weigh up to twenty pounds.
At the end of the day it was all guesswork, but the last time Alex had stood on a set of scales, he had weighed in at 110 pounds. He was probably quite a bit thinner after a week at the abbey. There were effectively six lines stretching out from the tower to the lake. Suppose each one was capable of holding twenty pounds. Six times twenty equals 120. It wasn’t a huge margin, but surely, together, the lines would be strong enough to take his weight.
He was about to find out. He was going to slide out of here, over the electric fence. If he didn’t actually clear it, if his foot touched the wire, he would die. If the fishing lines broke, he would die. If the guards looked up and saw him, he would die. But if he simply waited for them to find him, the result would be exactly the same. He had no choice. He couldn’t think of any other way.
He cut the lines off the drone, using the scissors he had taken from Feng’s bathroom, then tied them around one of the stone columns of the banister, ensuring that they were as tight as possible. Finally, he grabbed hold of two of the wire hangers he had taken from the cupboard and bent them into an upside-down U shape, curving over the line. He held one end in each hand. Taking a deep breath, he looked down.
He still couldn’t bring himself to go. It was raining harder again and he was half blinded. It was a very long way to the ground. It suddenly struck him that this whole scheme was madness, and he was about to give up and find another way when he heard the door of the security office burst open and somebody shouted.
Alex Rider--Secret Weapon Page 22
