“You haven’t changed,” Alex said. His cheek was still smarting where Sayle had hit him. But he’d heard enough. “I’m sorry you were bullied at school,” he said. “But lots of kids get bullied and they don’t turn into nutcases. You’re really sad, Mr Sayle. And your plan won’t work. I’ve told MI6 everything I know. They’ll be waiting for you at the Science Museum. So will the men in white coats.”
Sayle giggled. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” he said. His face was suddenly stone. “And perhaps you forget that I warned you about lying to me.”
Mr Grin took a step forward, flipping the knife over so that the blade landed in the flat of his hand.
“I’d like to watch you die,” Sayle said. “Unfortunately, I have a pressing engagement in London.” He turned to Mr Grin. “You can walk with me to the helicopter. Then come back here and kill the boy. Make it slow. Make it painful. We should have kept back some smallpox for him – but I’m sure you’ll think of something much more creative.”
He walked to the door, then stopped and turned to Alex.
“Goodbye, Alex. It wasn’t a pleasure knowing you. But enjoy your death. And remember, you’re only going to be the first…”
The door swung shut. Handcuffed to the chair with the jellyfish floating silently behind him, Alex was left alone.
DEEP WATER
Alex gave up trying to break free of the chair. His wrists were bruised and bloody where the chain had cut into him, and the cuffs were too tight. After thirty minutes, when Mr Grin still hadn’t come back, he’d tried to reach the zit cream that Smithers had given him. He knew it would burn through the handcuffs in seconds and the worst thing was, he could actually feel it, where he had put it, in the zipped-up outer pocket of his combat trousers. But although his outstretched fingers were only a few centimetres away, try as he might, he couldn’t reach it. It was enough to drive him mad.
He had heard the clatter of a helicopter taking off and knew that Herod Sayle must be on his way to London. Alex was still reeling from what he had heard. The multi-millionaire was completely insane. What he was planning was beyond belief, a mass-murder that would destroy Britain for generations to come. Alex tried to imagine what was about to happen. Tens of thousands of schoolchildren would be sitting in their classes, gathered round their new Stormbreakers, waiting for the moment – at midday exactly – when the Prime Minister would press his button and bring them on-line. But instead there would be a hiss and a small cloud of deadly smallpox vapour would be released into the crowded room. And minutes later, all over the country, the dying would begin. Alex had to close his mind to the thought. It was too horrible. And yet it was going to happen in just a couple of hours’ time. He was the only person who could stop it. And here he was, tied down, unable to move.
The door opened. Alex twisted round, expecting to see Mr Grin, but it was Nadia Vole who hurried in, closing the door behind her. Her pale round face seemed flushed and her eyes, behind the glasses, were afraid. She came over to him.
“Alex!”
“What do you want?” Alex recoiled away from her as she leaned over him. Then there was a click and, to his astonishment, his hands came free. She had unlocked the handcuffs! He stood up, wondering what was going on.
“Alex, listen to me,” Vole said. The words were tumbling quickly and softly out of her yellow-painted lips. “We do not have much time. I am here to help you. I worked with your uncle – Herr Ian Rider.” Alex stared at her in surprise. “Yes. I am on the same side as you.”
“But nobody told me—”
“It was better for you not to know.”
“But…” Alex was confused. “I saw you with the submarine. You knew what Sayle was doing…”
“There was nothing I could do. Not then. It’s too hard to explain. We do not have time to argue. You want to stop him – no?”
“I need to find a phone.”
“All the phones in the house are coded. You cannot use them. But I have a mobile in my office.”
“Then let’s go.”
Alex was still suspicious. If Nadia Vole had known so much, why hadn’t she tried to stop Sayle before? On the other hand, she had released him – and Mr Grin would be back any minute. He had no choice but to trust her. He followed her out of the room, round the corner and up a flight of stairs to a landing with a statue of a naked woman, some Greek goddess, in the corner. Vole paused for a moment, resting her hand against the statue’s arm.
“What is it?” Alex asked.
“I feel dizzy. You go on. It’s the first door on the left.”
Alex went past her, along the landing. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her press down on the statue’s arm. The arm moved … a lever. By the time he knew he had been tricked, it was too late. He yelled out as the floor underneath him swung round on a hidden pivot. He tried to stop himself falling, but there was nothing he could do. He crashed on to his back and slid down, through the floor and into a black plastic tunnel which corkscrewed beneath him. As he went, he heard Nadia Vole laugh triumphantly – and then he was gone, desperately trying to find a purchase on the sides, wondering what would be at the end of his fall.
Five seconds later he found out. The corkscrew spat him out. He fell briefly through the air and splashed into cold water. For a moment he was blinded, fighting for air. Then he rose to the surface and found himself in a huge glass tank filled with water and rocks. That was when he realized, with horror, exactly where he was.
Vole had deposited him in the tank with the giant jellyfish: Herod Sayle’s Portuguese man-o’-war. It was a miracle that he hadn’t crashed right into it. He could see it in the far corner of the tank, its dreadful tentacles with their hundreds of stinging cells, twisting and spiralling in the water. There was nothing between him and it. Alex fought back the panic, forced himself to keep still. He realized that thrashing about in the water would only create the current that would bring the creature over to him. The jellyfish had no eyes. It didn’t know he was there. It wouldn’t … couldn’t attack.
But eventually it would reach him. The tank he was in was huge, at least ten metres deep and twenty or thirty metres long. The glass rose above the level of the water, far out of his reach. There was no way he could climb out. Looking down through the water, he could see light. He realized he was looking into the room he had just left, Herod Sayle’s private office. There was a movement – everything was vague and distorted through the rippling water – and the door opened. Two figures walked in. Alex could barely make them out, but he knew who they were. Fräulein Vole and Mr Grin. They stood together in front of the tank. Vole was holding what looked like a mobile telephone in her hand.
“I hope you can hear me, Alex.” The German woman’s voice rang out from a speaker somewhere above his head. “I am sure you will have seen by now that there is no way out of the tank. You can tread water. Maybe for one hour, maybe for two. Others have lasted for longer. What is the record, Mr Grin?”
“Ire naaargh!”
“Five and a half hours. Yes. But soon you will get tired, Alex. You will drown. Or perhaps it will be fast and you will drift into the embrace of our friend. You see him … no? It is not an embrace to be desired. It will kill you. The pain, I think, will be beyond the imagination of a child. It is a pity, Alex Rider, that MI6 chose to send you here. They will not be seeing you again.”
The voice clicked off. Alex kicked in the water, keeping his head above the surface, his eyes fixed on the jellyfish. There was another blurred movement on the other side of the glass. Mr Grin had left the room. But Vole had stayed behind. She wanted to watch him die.
Alex looked up. The tank was lit from above by a series of neon strips, but they were too high to reach. Beneath him he heard a click and a soft, whirring sound. Almost at once he became aware that something had changed. The jellyfish was moving! He could see the translucent cone, with its dark mauve tip, heading towards him. Underneath the creature, the tentacles slowly danced.
He swallowed water and realized he had opened his mouth to cry out. Vole must have turned on the artificial current. That was what was making the jellyfish move. Desperately he kicked out with his feet, moving away from it, surging through the water on his back. One tentacle floated up and draped itself over his foot. If he hadn’t been wearing trainers, he would have been stung. Could the stinging cells penetrate his clothes? Almost certainly. His trainers were the only protection he had.
He reached the back corner of the aquarium and paused there, one hand against the glass. He already knew that what Vole had said was true. If the jellyfish didn’t get him, tiredness would. He had to fight every second to stay afloat, and sheer terror was sapping his strength.
The glass. He pushed against it, wondering if he could break it. Perhaps there was a way… He checked the distance between himself and the jellyfish, took a deep breath and dived down to the bottom of the pool. He could see Nadia Vole watching. Although she was a blur to him, he would be crystal clear to her. She didn’t move, and Alex realized with despair that she had expected him to do just this.
He swam to the rocks and looked for one small enough to bring to the surface. But the rocks were too heavy. He found one about the size of his own head, but it refused to move. Vole hadn’t tried to stop him because she knew that all the rocks were set in concrete. Alex was running out of breath. He twisted round and pushed himself up towards the surface, only seeing at the last second that the jellyfish had somehow drifted above him. He screamed, bubbles erupting out of his mouth. The tentacles were right over his head. Alex contorted his body and managed to stay down, flailing madly with his legs to propel himself sideways. His shoulder slammed into the nearest of the rocks and he felt the pain shudder through him. Clutching his arm in his hand, he backed into another corner and rose up, gasping for breath as his head broke through the surface of the water.
He couldn’t break the glass. He couldn’t climb out. He couldn’t avoid the touch of the jellyfish for ever. Although he had brought all the gadgets Smithers had given him, none of them could help him.
And then Alex remembered the cream. He let go of his arm and ran a finger up the side of the aquarium. The tank was a marvel of engineering. Alex had no idea how much pressure the water was exerting on the huge plates of glass, but the whole thing was held together by a framework of iron girders that fitted round the corners on both the inside and outside of the glass, the metal faces held together by rivets.
Treading water, he unzipped his pocket and took out the tube. ZIT-CLEAN, FOR HEALTHIER SKIN. If Nadia Vole could see what he was doing, she would think he had gone mad. The jellyfish was drifting towards the back of the aquarium. Alex waited a few moments, then swam forward and dived for a second time.
There didn’t seem to be very much of the cream given the thickness of the girders and the size of the tank, but Alex remembered the demonstration Smithers had given him, how little he had used. Would the cream even work underwater? There was no point worrying about that now. Alex held the tube against the metal corners at the front of the tank and did his best to squeeze a long line of cream all the way down the length of the metal, using his other hand to rub it in around the rivets.
He kicked his feet, propelling himself across to the other side. He didn’t know how long he would have before the cream took effect, and anyway, Nadia Vole was already aware that something was wrong. Alex saw that she had stood up again and was speaking into a phone, perhaps calling for help.
He had used half the tube on one side of the tank. He used the second half on the other. The jellyfish was hovering above him, the tentacles reaching out as if to grab hold of him and stop him. How long had he been underwater? His heart was pounding. And what would happen when the metal broke?
He just had time to come up and take one breath before he found out.
Even underwater, the cream had burned through the rivets on the inside of the tank. The glass had separated from the girders and, with nothing to hold it back, the huge pressure of water had smashed it open like a door caught in the wind. Alex didn’t see what happened. He didn’t have time to think. The world spun and he was thrown forward as helpless as a cork in a waterfall. The next few seconds were a twisting nightmare of rushing water and exploding glass. Alex didn’t dare open his eyes. He felt himself being hurled forward, slammed into something, then sucked back again. He was sure he had broken every bone in his body. Now he was underwater. He struggled to find air. His head broke through the surface but even so, when he finally opened his mouth, he was amazed he could actually breathe.
The front of the tank had blown off and thousands of litres of water had cascaded into Herod Sayle’s office. The water had smashed the furniture and blown the windows out. It was still draining away through the floor. Bruised and dazed, Alex stood up, water curling round his ankles.
Where was the jellyfish?
He had been lucky that the two of them hadn’t become tangled up in the sudden eruption of water. But it could still be close. There might still be enough water in Sayle’s office to allow it to reach him. Alex backed into a corner of the room, his whole body taut. Then he saw it.
Nadia Vole had been less fortunate. She had been standing in front of the glass when the girders broke and she hadn’t been able to get out of the way in time. She was lying on her back, her legs limp and broken. The Portuguese man-o’-war was all over her. Part of it was sitting on her face and she seemed to be staring at him through the quivering mass of jelly. Her yellow lips were drawn back in an endless scream. The tentacles were wrapped all around her, hundreds of stinging cells clinging to her arms and legs and chest. Feeling sick, Alex backed away to the door and staggered out into the corridor.
An alarm had gone off. He only heard it now, as sound and vision came back to him. The screaming of the siren shook him out of his dazed state. What time was it? Almost eleven o’clock. At least his watch was still working. But he was in Cornwall, at least a five-hour drive from London, and with the alarms sounding, the armed guards and the razor wire, he’d never make it out of the complex. Find a telephone? No. Vole had probably been telling the truth when she’d said they were blocked. And anyway, how could he get in touch with Alan Blunt or Mrs Jones at this late stage? They’d already be at the Science Museum.
Just one hour left.
Outside, over the din of the alarm, Alex heard another sound. The splutter and roar of a propeller. He went over to the nearest window and looked out. Sure enough, the cargo plane that had been there when he arrived was preparing to take off.
Alex was soaking wet, battered and almost exhausted. But he knew what he had to do. He spun round and began to run.
ELEVEN O’CLOCK
Alex burst out of the house and stopped in the open air, taking stock of his surroundings. He was aware of alarms ringing, guards running towards him and two cars, still some distance away, tearing up the main drive, heading for the house. He just hoped that although it was obvious something was wrong, nobody would yet know what it was. They shouldn’t be looking for him – at least, not yet. That might give him the edge.
It looked like he was already too late. Sayle’s private helicopter had gone. Only the cargo plane was left. If Alex was going to reach the Science Museum in London in the fifty-nine minutes left to him, he had to be on it. But the cargo plane was already in motion, rolling slowly away from its chocks. In a minute or two it would go through the pre-flight tests. Then it would take off.
Alex looked around and saw an open-top army Jeep parked on the drive near the front door. There was a guard standing next to it, a cigarette dropping out of his hand, looking around to see what was happening – but looking the wrong way. Perfect. Alex sprinted across the gravel. He had brought a weapon from the house. One of Sayle’s harpoon guns had floated past him just as he’d left the room and he’d snatched it up, determined to have something he could use to defend himself with at last. It would have been easy enough to shoot the guard right then. A harpoon i
n the back and the Jeep would be his. But Alex knew he couldn’t do it. Whatever Alan Blunt and MI6 wanted to turn him into, he wasn’t ready to shoot in cold blood. Not for his country. Not even to save his own life.
The guard looked up as Alex approached, and fumbled for the pistol he was wearing in a holster at his belt. He never made it. Alex used the handle of the harpoon gun, swinging it round and up to hit him, hard, under the chin. The guard crumpled, the pistol falling out of his hand. Alex grabbed it and leapt into the Jeep, grateful to see the keys were in the ignition. He turned them and heard the engine start up. He knew how to drive. That was something else Ian Rider had made sure he’d learned, as soon as his legs were long enough to reach the pedals. The other cars were closing in on him. They must have seen him attack the guard. The plane had wheeled round and was already taxiing up to the start of the runway.
He wasn’t going to reach it in time.
Maybe it was the danger closing in from all sides that had sharpened his senses. Maybe it was his close escape from so many dangers before. But Alex didn’t even have to think. He knew what to do as if he had done it a dozen times before. And maybe his training had been more effective than he’d thought.
He reached into his pocket and took out the yo-yo that Smithers had given him. There was a metal stud on the belt he was wearing and he slammed the yo-yo against it, feeling it click into place, as it had been designed to. Then, as quickly as he could, he tied the end of the nylon cord round the bolt of the harpoon. Finally, he tucked the pistol he had taken from the guard into the back of his combats. He was ready.
The plane had completed its pre-flight tests. It was facing down the runway. Its propellers were at full speed.
Alex slammed the gears into first, released the handbrake and gunned the Jeep forward, shooting over the drive and on to the grass, heading for the airstrip. At the same time there was a chatter of machine-gun fire. He yanked down on the steering-wheel and twisted away as his wing mirror exploded and a spray of bullets slammed into the windscreen and door. The two cars, speeding towards him, head-on, were getting closer and closer. Each of them had a guard in the back seat, leaning out of the window, firing at him. Alex swerved between them, and for a horrible second there was actually one on each side. He was sandwiched between the two cars, with guards firing at him left and right. But then he was through. The guards missed him and hit each other. He heard one of them yell out and drop his gun. One of the cars lost control and crashed into the front of the house, metalwork crumpling against brick. The other screeched to a halt, reversed, then came after him again.
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