Scorpia Rising

by Anthony Horowitz

  Alex Rider saw him go past. He noticed that Gunter had swapped the backpack for what looked like a golf bag. For a moment, the two of them were almost next to each other. Alex was inside one of the stalls, pretending to examine a mother-of-pearl jewelry box. He glanced back as Gunter disappeared, then stepped out into the corridor. The obvious thing would be to follow the head of security. That was what Gunter seemed to be inviting. But then he noticed that the door of the shop was ajar.

  He took out his iPhone and texted Jack, Gunter leaving. follow him. will meet later. That was him taken care of. Now to see whom he had met and perhaps what he had been given.

  Alex made his way down the corridor, pushing through the crowds. The House of Gold had an air-conditioning system, but even so, it felt hot and sticky. A couple of salesmen waved gold necklaces at him, but he ignored them. He reached the door and gently pushed it open. It took his eyes a few moments to get used to the gloom. His eyes swept over all the weapons. The place was like a medieval arsenal. Then he saw the man lying with the top part of his body on the counter and his arms spread out protectively around him. He could have been asleep, but Alex knew instantly that he wasn’t. And it wasn’t a red cushion beneath his head. He could smell the blood in the sluggish air.

  He backed out fast. He knew that he had finally arrived at the heart of the conspiracy. Gunter had just killed this man and it was easy enough to guess what he must have been carrying in the golf bag. But still it made no sense. Was he acting alone or was he part of a larger organization? And what was the connection with Cairo College? Despite everything, this trail had led him nowhere. He still had no idea what was going on.

  Alex was feeling sick. He just wanted to get back into the open air, and he wished now that he hadn’t sent the instruction to Jack. Gunter was a killer. If Jack got too close, she could be in danger. He would call her again, the moment he was out. But for now he was fighting his way back down the corridor. The gold and silver jewelry seemed to hammer at him from every direction. He was almost suffocating.

  And then there was an explosion. Alex was blown off his feet and he felt the entire paddle steamer tilt violently to one side. All around him, people began to scream, thrown off balance. Gold chains, ornaments, and brass plates came raining down. At the same time, a plume of black smoke came surging through the corridor, instantly wiping out his vision. He could hardly breathe. All the electric lights had gone off.

  Somebody fell on top of him. He pushed them off and crawled on his hands and knees. The paddle steamer rocked back again—it was like being on some hideous fairground ride. The crowds were still screaming. And then there was a gushing sound and Alex felt water— warm and evil-smelling—surge around his hands and knees. God! Erik Gunter—or someone working with him—had blown a hole in the side of the paddle steamer and it was sinking. If he didn’t get out, he would go down with it.

  Everyone else had had the same idea. The jewelers were stuffing necklaces and chains into their pockets, saving what they could. They had forgotten that once they were in the water it would only drag them down. The floor moved again, slanting backward, and Alex found himself clawing his way uphill. There were people everywhere, all around him. He drew up next to a sobbing Egyptian girl—she couldn’t have been more than six years old. She was on her own. He reached out and put an arm around her, drawing her with him. Behind him, he heard the sound of shattering glass. One of the counters had come loose, rolled down the deck and into the wall. Gold coins and medals exploded out of it.

  The girl was snatched away. Her father or uncle had found her and took her without a word of thanks. Alex could see the exit in front of him, a rectangle of light that slanted heavily to one side. He climbed toward it, dragging himself up with his hands. A minute later, he was out on the deck, sucking in the air, still tasting the smoke. The gangplank had fallen away. The paddle steamer was jammed into the side of the quay as if it had just crashed into it. Alex saw that the thick ropes that had kept it moored were preventing it from sinking altogether, although they were already straining and would surely snap at any moment. People were hurling themselves over the side. Some of them preferred the river to the hard fall with solid concrete below. Alex decided to join them. He was already soaking wet. There was no point in risking a broken leg.

  He slid down the deck and dived into the murky water of the Nile. He vaguely wondered what germs he was exposing himself to. They would probably kill him faster than the bomb. He broke surface and swam toward the quay, making his way through the pieces of debris that floated all over the surface. At the same time he noticed half-naked Egyptian boys diving off the edge, into the water. They weren’t trying to help anyone. They were scavengers, looking for anything of value that might actually float.

  Jack, of course, was gone. How would he contact her now? His iPhone would be ruined. Alex reached the side of the quay and pulled himself out. He examined himself. At least he hadn’t been hurt. But he was filthy and battered by the force of the blast. He could taste the Nile water on his lips and wondered how many millions of germs he had managed to swallow. The bomb hadn’t killed him. The river quite possibly might.

  He crossed the quay, making for the park where he and Jack had waited. He guessed that as soon as she had heard what had happened, she would make her way back to the same spot. He found the bench and sat down heavily. All around him, people were milling past, many of them dripping wet. There were white-suited police officers everywhere, already taking command, blowing whistles and shouting out orders. Of course, the police were everywhere in Cairo. This was a country that was always on high alert against terrorism. They would have spent months training for an event just like this. Alex shook his head. How could this have happened? It was the last thing he had expected.

  And then there was a man standing in front of him. Alex looked up.

  “Come with me,” the man said.

  “What?”

  The man opened his jacket, showing a gun in a holster under his arm. “You heard what I said.”

  A second man had crept up behind him and dragged him to his feet. Both of them were in their thirties, clean shaven, with sunglasses. The man with the gun had spoken with an American accent.

  “We have a car. We’re going to walk you there. If you do anything, we’ll shoot.”

  Alex didn’t doubt them. There was a seriousness about them, a sense that they knew exactly what they were doing. This was something they had done before. One man stood in front of him. The other was right behind. Alex felt himself being lifted up and frog-marched into the road. There was a gray Chevrolet parked right in front of him. For a brief moment he considered a countermove. Right now, before it was too late, jabbing with an elbow, then swinging around to kick out.

  But the man had been expecting it. Suddenly his arm was seized and twisted behind his back. “Don’t even think of it,” he said.

  Alex was bundled in. He was facedown on the backseat of the Chevrolet. The door slammed. Both men had gotten into the front.

  The road was clogged up with traffic but the car swerved around, performing a U-turn. And then they were clear, picking up speed, leaving the dead man and the wreckage of the House of Gold far behind.

  14

  THE BELL ROOM

  THEY DROVE FOR FORTY MINUTES, heading for one of the many suburbs that were hardly separate from the city itself. That was the thing about Cairo. It was almost impossible to say where one area ended and the next began. If ever a city could be described as sprawling, this was it.

  Alex tried to work out where they were going but soon gave up. He was lying on the backseat with his head facing the floor. This was what the two men had instructed. For the first part of the journey, he did what he was told, feeling, as the car lurched left and right, like a rat caught in a maze. But the farther they went from the House of Gold, the more the two men relaxed, and he was able to twist around so that at least he had a partial view out of the window. Most of what he saw was sky, but a few land
marks flashed by—the hideous modern construction that was the Cairo Tower, the American university, the minaret of one of the main mosques. Alex made a note of them. Later on, it might help to work out where he had been taken.

  He had been dripping wet when the journey began, but somehow—a combination of the heat and the air conditioning—he dried out a little as they continued. Eventually, the driver signaled and the car began to slow down. Alex guessed they had arrived and he tried to sit up, determined to see where they were.

  He was pushed down immediately. But in that one brief second he was just able to see an old-fashioned, possibly abandoned office block and a sign that read Cairo Islamic Authority before they turned off the road and drove down a ramp leading underneath the building.

  The Islamic Authority? Alex wondered what he had gotten himself into. Why should a religious group have any interest in him?

  The car stopped. There was a third man waiting for them. The back door was thrown open and Alex was dragged out. He found himself standing in a drab underground garage illuminated by strip lights that threw a hard white gloss over the concrete walls and floors. One of the lights was malfunctioning, buzzing and flickering. It made the place more nightmarish than it already was. There were about a dozen other cars already parked but no other drivers. Alex was alone with three dangerous men. Their hostility bristled in the air.

  For the moment none of them spoke, and Alex was able to examine them for the first time. They were all of a type, about the same age, all in dark suits and white ties. They reminded Alex of the sort of people who went around towns knocking on doors, trying to convert you to some religion. The man who had first approached him—and who seemed to be in charge—was built like an American football player with huge shoulders and a thick neck. He had a small upturned nose, fair hair cut like a nail brush, and watery blue eyes. His partner was similarly built, fit, possibly ex-army. His hair was dark and he was obviously mixed race . . . Native American, maybe. The third man, the one who had been waiting, was black, angry looking, smaller, and lighter on his feet than the others. He was looking at Alex with disbelief.

  “Is this him?” he demanded.

  “Yeah.” The fair-haired man nodded.

  “What about Habib?”

  “Habib is probably dead. The boat blew up.”

  “What?”

  “You heard what I said, Franklin. Right now, the House of Gold is on the bottom of the Nile. And this kid was there—”

  “I had nothing to do with it,” Alex said.

  “Shut up!” Fair Hair snapped out the two words.

  “What are we going to do with him, Lewinsky?” Franklin, the black man, asked.

  “We’re going to take him to the bell room.”

  “Whoa!” The driver was unhappy. “We can’t do that!”

  “We don’t have time to talk about this,” Lewinsky snarled. “And we’re not going to talk about it in front of him. We need answers to questions and we need them now. So let’s take him down and get on with it.”

  Down? They were already in the basement. Alex didn’t like the sound of this, the way things were going.

  “You’re making a mistake,” he began.

  “Save your breath,” Lewinsky said. “You’re going to need it.”

  Alex felt a hand shove him in the back and he was propelled toward an elevator. The driver pressed the button and the doors slid open at once. The elevator was a steel box. It was like walking into a refrigerator. The four of them bundled in and they were carried down. Alex was trying to quell a rising sense of panic. Too much had happened in the past hour—the discovery of the dead man, the explosion, the way he had been kidnapped in broad daylight. He had no idea who these people were or what they wanted. And what was the bell room?

  But more than anything, he was desperately worried about Jack. He had sent her chasing after Erik Gunter. Right now, he needed to warn her about what he had seen on the boat. She needed to know the danger she was in. And it might well be that she had heard about the explosion. If so, she would be sick with worry herself. The least he could do was tell her he was still alive.

  “I want to talk to Jack,” Alex said.

  “Who’s Jack?” Lewinsky asked.

  “She’s a friend. She looks after me.”

  “What? You mean she’s like your nanny?”

  Alex ignored the taunt. “I have her mobile number.” There was no response. “I just want to let her know that I’m okay,” he said.

  Lewinsky smiled unpleasantly. “What makes you think you’re okay?”

  They had traveled some distance underground. Alex could feel it in his stomach and in the sense of weight pressing on his shoulders. The doors of the elevator slid open to reveal a short, windowless corridor leading to a single wooden door at the end. Somehow Alex knew he didn’t want to find out what was on the other side. But he had no choice. Franklin and the unnamed man had already left the elevator. Lewinsky laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and propelled him forward.

  He walked down the corridor with a sense of dread, a long shadow stretching ahead of him. Franklin opened the door. It led into a large room that was indeed shaped like the inside of a bell, round with bare brick walls that narrowed as they rose at least two floors above his head. Alex didn’t like anything he saw. The room had no windows and was lit by a single bulb dangling on a wire. The door was soundproofed. The floor was covered with a thick rubber mat. In the middle there was a wooden chair and to one side a narrow table that had been constructed so that one end sloped downward. The table had three leather belts and Alex could see at once that they were meant for him: one for his ankles, one for his stomach, one for his shoulders and arms. There was a bucket and a tap. The room had been designed for one purpose. There was no escaping it. It screamed at him everywhere he looked.

  “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.