Point Blanc

by Anthony Horowitz

  “One moment, please.” The nurse entered the name into her computer. She read the information on the screen and her face became serious. “May I ask who you are?”

  “I am the assistant director of the academy at Point Blanc. He is one of our students.”

  “Are you aware of the extent of his injuries, madame?”

  “I was told that he was involved in a snowboarding accident.” Mrs Stellenbosch took out a small handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

  “He tried to snowboard down the mountains at night. He was involved in a collision with a train. His injuries are very serious, madame. The doctors are operating on him now.”

  Mrs Stellenbosch nodded, swallowing her tears. “My name is Eva Stellenbosch,” she said. “May I wait for any news?”

  “Of course, madame.”

  Mrs Stellenbosch took a seat in the reception area. For the next hour she watched as people came and went, some walking, some in wheelchairs. There were other people waiting for news of other patients. One of them, she noticed, was a serious-looking woman with black hair, badly cut, and very black eyes. She was from England – glancing occasionally at a copy of the London Times.

  Then a door opened and a doctor came out. Doctors have a certain face when they come to give bad news. This doctor had it now. “Madame Stellenbosch?” he asked.

  “Yes?”

  “You are the director of the school…?”

  “The assistant director, yes.”

  The doctor sat next to her. “I am very sorry, madame. Alex Friend died a few minutes ago.” He waited while she absorbed the news. “He had multiple fractures. His arms, his collar-bone, his leg. He had also fractured his skull. We operated, but unfortunately there had been massive internal bleeding. He went into shock and we were unable to bring him round.”

  Mrs Stellenbosch nodded, struggling for words. “I must notify his family,” she whispered.

  “Is he from this country?”

  “No. He is English. His father … Sir David Friend … I’ll have to tell him.” Mrs Stellenbosch got to her feet. “Thank you, doctor. I’m sure you did everything you could.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Mrs Stellenbosch noticed that the woman with the black hair had also stood up, letting her newspaper fall to the floor. She had overheard the conversation. She was looking shocked.

  Both women left the hospital at the same time. Neither of them spoke.

  The aircraft waiting on the runway was a Lockheed Martin C-130 Hercules. It had landed just after midday. Now it waited beneath the clouds while three vehicles drove towards it. One was a police car, one a Jeep and one an ambulance.

  The Saint-Geoirs airport at Grenoble does not see many international flights, but the plane had flown out from England that morning. From the other side of the perimeter fence, Mrs Stellenbosch watched through a pair of high-powered binoculars. A small military escort had been formed. Four men in French uniforms. They had lifted up a coffin which seemed pathetically small when balanced on their broad shoulders. The coffin was simple. Pinewood with silver handles. A Union Jack was folded in a square in the middle.

  Marching in time, they carried the coffin towards the waiting plane. Mrs Stellenbosch focused the binoculars and saw the woman from the hospital. She had been travelling in the police car. She stood watching as the coffin was loaded into the plane, then got back into the car and was driven away. By now, Mrs Stellenbosch knew who she was. Dr Grief kept extensive files and had quickly identified her as Mrs Jones; deputy to Alan Blunt, head of Special Operations for MI6.

  Mrs Stellenbosch stayed until the end. The doors of the plane were closed. The Jeep and the ambulance left. The plane’s propellers began to turn and it lumbered forward onto the runway. A few minutes later it took off. As it thundered into the air, the clouds opened as if to receive it and for a moment its silver wings were bathed in brilliant sunlight. Then the clouds rolled back and the plane disappeared.

  Mrs Stellenbosch took out her mobile. She dialled a number and waited until she was connected. “The little swine has gone,” she said.

  She got back into her car and drove away.

  After Mrs Jones had left the airport, she returned to the hospital and took the stairs to the second floor. She came to a pair of doors guarded by a policeman who nodded and let her pass through. On the other side was a corridor leading to a private wing. She walked down to a door, this one also guarded. She didn’t knock. She went straight in.

  Alex Rider was standing by the window, looking out at the view of Grenoble on the other side of the River Isère. Outside, high above him, five steel and glass bubbles moved slowly along a cable, ferrying tourists up to the Fort de la Bastille. He turned round as Mrs Jones came in. There was a bandage around his head but otherwise he seemed unhurt.

  “You’re lucky to be alive,” she said.

  “I thought I was dead,” Alex replied.

  “Let’s hope Dr Grief believes as much.” Despite herself, Mrs Jones couldn’t keep the worry out of her eyes. “It really was a miracle,” she said. “You should have at least broken something.”

  “The ski suit protected me,” Alex said. He tried to think back to the whirling, desperate moment when he had been thrown off the train. “There was undergrowth. And the fence sort of caught me.” He rubbed his leg and winced. “Even if it was barbed wire.”

  He walked back to the bed and sat down. After they had finished examining him, the French doctors had brought him fresh clothes. Military clothes, he noticed. Combat jacket and trousers. He hoped they weren’t trying to tell him something.

  “I’ve got three questions,” he said. “But let’s start with the big one. I called for help two days ago. Where were you?”

  “I’m very sorry, Alex,” Mrs Jones said. “There were … logistical problems.”

  “Yes? Well, while you were having your logistical problems, Dr Grief was getting ready to cut me up!”

  “We couldn’t just storm the academy. That could have got you killed. It could have got you all killed. We had to move in slowly. Try and work out what was going on. How do you think we found you so quickly?”

  “That was my second question.”

  Mrs Jones shrugged. “We’ve had people in the mountains ever since we got your signal. They’ve been closing in on the academy. They heard the machine-gun fire when the snowmobiles were chasing you and followed you down on skis. They saw what happened with the train and radioed for help.”

  “All right. So why all the business with the funeral? Why do you want Dr Grief to think I’m dead?”

  “That’s simple, Alex. From what you’ve told us, he’s keeping fifteen boys prisoner in the academy. These are the boys that he plans to replace.” She shook her head. “I have to say, it’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard. And I wouldn’t have believed it if I’d heard it from anyone else except you.”

  “You’re too kind,” Alex muttered.

  “If Dr Grief thought you’d survived last night, the first thing he would do is kill every one of those boys. Or perhaps he’d use them as hostages. We only had one hope if we were going to take him by surprise. He had to believe you were dead.”

  “You’re going to take him by surprise?”

  “We’re going in tonight. I told you, we’ve assembled an attack squad here in Grenoble. They were up in the mountains last night. They plan to set off as soon as it’s dark. They’re armed and they’re experienced.” Mrs Jones hesitated. “There’s just one thing they don’t have.”

  “And what’s that?” Alex asked, feeling a sudden sense of unease.

  “They need someone who knows the building,” Mrs Jones said. “The library, the secret lift, the placement of the guards, the passage with the cells—”

  “No way!” Alex exclaimed. Now he understood the military clothes. “Forget it! I’m not going back up there! I almost got killed trying to get away! Do you think I’m mad?”

  “Alex, you’ll be looked after. You’ll be completel
y safe—”

  “No!”

  Mrs Jones nodded. “All right. I can understand your feelings. But there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  As if on cue, there was a knock on the door and it opened to reveal a young man, also in combat dress. The man was well-built with black hair, square shoulders and a dark, watchful face. He was in his late twenties. He saw Alex and shook his head. “Well, well, well. There’s a turn up for the books,” he said. “How’s it going, Cub?”

  Alex recognized him at once. It was the soldier he had known as Wolf. When MI6 had sent him for eleven days’ SAS training in Wales, Wolf had been in charge of his unit. If training had been hell, Wolf had only made it worse, picking on Alex from the start and almost getting him thrown out. In the end though, it had been Wolf who had nearly lost his place with the SAS and Alex who had saved him. But Alex still wasn’t sure where that left him, and the other man was giving nothing away.

  “Wolf!” Alex said.

  “I heard you got busted up.” Wolf shrugged. “I’m sorry. I forgot the flowers and the bunch of grapes.”

  “What are you doing here?” Alex asked.

  “They called me in to clear up the mess you left behind you.”

  “So where were you when I was being chased down the mountain?”

  “It seems you were doing fine on your own.”

  Mrs Jones took over. “Alex has done a very good job up to now,” she said. “But the fact is that there are fifteen young prisoners up at Point Blanc and our first priority must be to save them. From what Alex has told us, we know there are about thirty guards in and around the school. The only chance those boys have is for an SAS unit to break in. It’s happening tonight.” She turned to Alex. “The unit will be commanded by Wolf.”

  The SAS never use rank when they are on active service. Mrs Jones was careful only to use Wolf’s code-name.

  “Where does the boy come into this?” Wolf demanded.

  “He knows the school. He knows the position of the guards and the location of the prison cells. He can lead you to the lift—”

  “He can tell us everything we need to know here and now,” Wolf interrupted. He turned to Mrs Jones. “We don’t need a kid,” he said. “He’s just going to be baggage. We’re going in on skis. Maybe there’ll be blood. I can’t waste one of my men holding his hand—”

  “I don’t need to have my hand held,” Alex retorted angrily. “She’s right. I know more about Point Blanc than any of you. I’ve been there – and got out of there, no thanks to you. Also, I’ve met some of those boys. One of them is a friend of mine. I promised I’d help him and I will.”

  “Not if you get killed.”

  “I can look after myself.”

  “Then it’s agreed,” Mrs Jones said. “Alex will lead you in there but then will take no further part in the operation. And as for his safety, Wolf, I hold you personally responsible.”

  “Personally responsible. Right,” Wolf growled.

  Alex couldn’t resist a smile. He’d held his ground and he’d be going back in with the SAS. Then he realized. A few moments ago, he’d been arguing violently against doing just that. He glanced at Mrs Jones. She’d manipulated him, of course, bringing Wolf into the room. And she knew it.

  Wolf nodded. “All right, Cub,” he said. “Looks like you’re in. Let’s go play.”

  “Sure, Wolf,” Alex sighed. “Let’s go play.”

  NIGHT RAID

  They came skiing down from the mountain. There were seven of them. Wolf was the leader. Alex was at his side. The other five men followed. They had changed into white trousers, jackets and hoods – camouflage that would help them blend into the snow. A helicopter had dropped them two kilometres north of and two hundred metres above Point Blanc and, equipped with night vision goggles, they had quickly made their way down. The weather had settled again. The moon was out. Despite himself, Alex enjoyed the journey, the whisper of the skis cutting through the ice, the empty mountainside bathed in white light. And he was part of a crack SAS unit. He felt safe.

  But then the academy loomed up below him, and once again he shivered. Before they had left, he had asked for a gun – but Wolf had shaken his head.

  “I’m sorry, Cub. It’s orders. You get us in, then you get out of sight.”

  There were no lights showing in the building. The helicopter crouched on the helipad like a glittering insect. The ski-jump stood to one side, dark and forgotten. There was nobody in sight. Wolf held up a hand and they slid to a halt.

  “Guards?” he whispered.

  “Two patrolling. One on the roof.”

  “Let’s take him out first.”

  Mrs Jones had made her instructions clear. There was to be no bloodshed unless absolutely necessary. The mission was to get the boys out. The SAS could take care of Dr Grief, Mrs Stellenbosch and the guards at a later date.

  Now Wolf held out a hand and one of the other men passed him something. It was a crossbow – not the medieval sort but a sophisticated, hightech weapon with a microflite aluminium barrel and laser scope. He loaded it with an anaesthetic dart, lifted it up and took aim. Alex saw him smile to himself. Then his finger curled and the dart flashed across the night, travelling at one hundred metres a second. There was a faint sound from the roof of the academy. It was as if someone had coughed. Wolf lowered the crossbow.

  “One down,” he said.

  “Sure,” Alex muttered. “And about twenty-nine to go.”

  Wolf signalled and they continued down, more slowly now. They were about twenty metres from the school when they saw the main door open. Two men walked out, machine-guns hanging from their shoulders. As one, the SAS men veered to the right, disappearing round the side of the school. They stopped within reach of the wall, dropping down to lie flat on their stomachs. Two of the men had moved slightly ahead. Alex noticed that they had kicked off their skis at the very same moment they had come to a halt.

  The two guards approached. One of them was talking quietly in German. Alex’s face was half buried in the snow. He knew that the combat clothes would make them invisible. He half-lifted his head just in time to see two figures rise out of the ground like ghosts from the grave. Two coshes swung in the moonlight. The guards crumpled. In seconds they were tied up and gagged. They wouldn’t be going anywhere that night.

  Wolf signalled again. The men got up and ran forward, making for the main door. Alex hastily pulled his own skis off and followed. They reached the door in a line, their backs against the wall. Wolf looked inside to check that it was safe. He nodded. They went in.

  They were in the hall with the stone dragons and the animal heads. Alex found himself next to Wolf and quickly gave him his bearings, pointing out the different rooms.

  “The library?” Wolf whispered. He was totally serious now. Alex could see the tension in his eyes.

  “Through here.”

  Wolf took a step forward, then crouched down, his hand whipping into one of the pouches of his jacket. Another guard had appeared, patrolling the lower corridor. Dr Grief was taking no more chances. Wolf waited until the man had gone past, then nodded. One of the other SAS men went after him. Alex heard a thud and the clatter of a gun dropping.

  “So far, so good,” Wolf whispered.

  They went into the library. Alex showed Wolf how to summon the lift and Wolf whistled softly as the suit of armour smoothly divided into two parts. “This is quite a place,” he muttered.

  “Are you going up or down?”

  “Down. Let’s make sure the kids are all right.”

  There was just room for all seven of them in the lift. Alex had warned Wolf about the guard at the table, within sight of the lift, and Wolf took no chances – he came out firing. In fact, there were two guards there. One of them was holding a mug of coffee, the other lighting a cigarette. Wolf fired twice. Two more anaesthetic darts travelled the short distance along the corridor and found their targets. Again, it had all happened in almost total silence. The two guards co
llapsed and lay still. The SAS men stepped out into the corridor.

  Suddenly Alex remembered. He was angry with himself for not mentioning it before. “You can’t go into the cells,” he whispered. “They’re wired up for sound.”

  Wolf nodded. “Show me!”

  Alex showed Wolf the passage with the steel doors. Wolf pointed to one of the men. “I want you to stay here. If we’re found, this is the first place Grief will come.”

  The man nodded. He understood. The rest of them went back to the lift, up to the library and out into the hall.

  Wolf turned to Alex. “We’re going to have to deactivate the alarm,” he explained. “Do you have any idea—?”

  “This way. Grief’s private rooms are on the other side…”

  But before he could finish, three more guards appeared, walking down the passageway. Wolf shot one of them – another anaesthetic dart – and one of his men took out the other two. But this time they were a fraction of a second too slow. Alex saw one of the guards bring his gun round. He was probably unconscious before he managed to fire. But at the last moment, his finger tightened on the trigger. Bullets sprayed upwards, smashing into the ceiling, bringing plaster and wood splinters showering down. Nobody had been hit, but the damage had been done. The lights flashed on. An alarm began to ring.

  Twenty metres away, a door opened and more guards poured through.

  “Down!” Wolf shouted.

  He had produced a grenade. He tugged the pin out and threw it. Alex hit the ground and a second later there was a soft explosion as a great cloud of tear gas filled the far end of the passage. The guards staggered, blind and helpless. The SAS men quickly took them out.

  Wolf grabbed hold of Alex and dragged him close. “Find somewhere to hide!” he shouted. “You’ve got us in. We’ll do the rest now.”

  “Give me a gun!” Alex shouted back. Some of the gas had reached him and he could feel his eyes burning.

  “No. I’ve got orders. At the first sign of trouble, you’re to get out of the way. Find somewhere safe. We’ll come for you later.”