Never Say Die

by Anthony Horowitz

  He couldn’t stay here for ever. Very slowly, an inch at a time, he drew back the blanket, grateful for the fresh air. He saw at once that he was in some kind of carport with wicker screens on each side and branches with leaves and flowers intertwining above to keep the car out of the sun. That was good. He couldn’t be seen after all. Gently, he pressed the handle of the back door and opened it. He slithered out.

  Crouching down beside the car, he took in his surroundings. In front of him, there was a large house, pink and white, on the other side of a gravel drive. If it had been the home of a Hollywood film star, he wouldn’t have been surprised. The gardens that surrounded it could have come straight off the cover of a glossy magazine. He turned round and peered through the wickerwork. The gate was behind him, at the top of a slope. He could just make out the control room next to it, but as far as he could see, he would be out of the sight of any guards who happened to be there. CCTV? He could see a couple of cameras but they were trained on the gate, looking in the other direction. There didn’t seem to be anyone around.

  He was about to slip out when he heard footsteps crunching on the gravel and he froze as a man walked past, dressed in dark clothes, carrying a machine gun. Alex whistled under his breath. Maybe he had made a mistake coming here. It was certainly going to be harder getting out than it had been coming in. He wondered if Jack Starbright was inside the house. If the Grimaldi brothers had brought her with them to France and she wasn’t on the boat, where else could she be? The thought spurred him on.

  He made sure there were no more guards in sight and scurried across from the carport, his own feet scuffing the gravel. The front door of the house was open and he was tempted to disappear through it but, at the last minute, he veered off, making for the back of the house. He wasn’t going to commit himself to the main entrance – it was much safer to circle round and find a quieter way in.

  He ran, crouching, keeping close to the side wall, then skidded to a halt about halfway along. He was certain that nobody had seen him. There was a window close to his head and he peered into a corridor and a flight of steps going down to a basement. There was no sound coming from inside and he couldn’t see anyone either. He caught his breath, then continued on his way.

  The wall went on for some distance. It really was an enormous villa. Alex guessed it might contain nine or ten bedrooms. Everywhere he looked there were balconies and terraces, each one giving a view over the garden. He came to an archway that opened into a courtyard with a fountain playing at the centre. There were different herbs growing in neat little beds. Alex smelled rosemary and mint in the warm midday air. He saw a closed door which might allow him into the house if it wasn’t locked and was about to test it when it suddenly opened and a man in the formal whites of a chef came out carrying a pair of secateurs. Alex drew back, watching him as he cut a few sprigs of rosemary. The chef went back inside without closing the door. Alex waited thirty seconds, then followed him in.

  What would he say if he was challenged? Alex might be able to pretend he was a delivery boy or something but he knew it wouldn’t work. He wasn’t dressed like a delivery boy, and anyway, his accent would give him away. He would simply have to make sure he wasn’t caught. He found himself in a long, cool corridor with paving stones and whitewashed walls. The chef had gone through a doorway into a well-equipped kitchen. Alex watched as he set the herbs down and began to carve a chicken that had just come out of the oven. There was a cat watching him, sitting on a windowsill. A telephone rang in the room next door. The chef stopped what he was doing and went to answer it. Alex couldn’t have asked for better timing.

  But as he went past the kitchen door, he stopped. The smell of the chicken was overwhelming. Alex hadn’t eaten since breakfast and that had only been a quickly snatched croissant on the way to the hospital. His stomach growled and although he knew he was taking an unnecessary risk, he couldn’t stop himself. He sneaked inside and tore off a drumstick – then, as an afterthought, he threw a second piece at the cat. When the chef saw what had happened, it would take the blame.

  The meat was hot and greasy. Alex wolfed it down as fast as he could, then dropped the bone into a plant pot. He came to another half-open door and heard voices on the other side. With his mouth still full of food, he knelt down, trying to fold himself into the shadows, and looked through the crack.

  He had reached a living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that opened on to the garden beyond. It was twice as long as any room that Alex had ever seen, filled with expensive furniture that reminded him of Quicksilver. Eduardo and Giovanni Grimaldi were sitting next to each other on a low, leather sofa, each of them holding coffee cups; one in his right hand, one in his left.

  They were directly facing him but as long as he didn’t move too much, it was unlikely that they would see him. He was low down, largely concealed behind the door. There was a third man – presumably Mr Vosper – sitting in an armchair to one side with his legs crossed. Alex could see steel-grey hair and steel glasses, a clean-cut face and cheeks that had gone red in the sun. He wore the classic dress of an Englishman abroad: a white jacket, slacks and loafers. He was holding a panama hat.

  “I’m afraid there can be absolutely no question of a delay,” he was saying. He had a very clipped way of speaking. “We’ve got the opportunity, two days from now. If we don’t do it then, we may never get another chance.” Alex heard the words and knew that, whatever they were planning, he had almost no time to prevent it.

  “Why not next week … or the week after?” one of the brothers asked.

  “Because I’ve seen the names on the list. We’re talking solid gold here, gentlemen. It’s absolutely perfect for your requirements.” He paused. “Do you think I could have some more coffee?”

  Alex flinched. If they called the kitchen, someone would come down the very corridor where he was hiding. But it didn’t happen. “Help yourself,” one of the brothers said.

  The man got up and moved closer to the door. He poured himself some coffee from a percolator and Alex was able to see him quite clearly. He must have been about fifty years old. Was he ex-army? There was something regimented about the way he walked and he talked like someone who was used to rapping out orders. At the same time, he was running to fat. His trousers were biting into his stomach, trying to hold it back. “You have a very nice place here,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Must cost you quite a bit to keep up.”

  “Mr Vosper…” The brothers clearly didn’t like the way this conversation was going.

  “Call me Derek.” The man added two lumps of sugar to his cup. “After all, we’re in business together now. You know, I’m beginning to think we should have charged more for our services. You two can obviously afford it.” He laughed briefly as if to say that he didn’t really mean it. “But seriously, gentlemen, let’s not have any more talk about postponing. They’re seeing Henry at half past three in the afternoon and the rest of it’s up to you.” He walked back to his chair and sat down again, the cup and saucer rattling in his hand. “I wish I was there to be a witness. It’s certainly going to be a dramatic afternoon.” He let out another brief bark of laughter. “And now I’m afraid we do have to talk a bit about money,” he went on. “It’s the reason I’ve flown all this way.”

  “We have an agreement, Mr Vosper.”

  “Precisely. Only you haven’t paid up yet. Five hundred grand! That’s what we agreed for Steel Claw. Odd name for what you’re doing, I’d have said.”

  “You have received money.”

  “That’s true. But not a great deal of money. That’s why I’m here. I’m thinking about my other half…”

  Alex never heard him complete the sentence.

  He had been so absorbed in the conversation that he hadn’t heard the footsteps creeping up behind him. The first thing he knew was a hand grabbing hold of his collar. He turned and looked into the livid eyes and the burned skin of the bald man from the boat. Alex was already
searching for a defensive position against the blow that he knew must be coming but it was far, far too late. The bald man was holding something in his right hand. Alex didn’t even see what it was. He swung it down through the air, crashing it into the side of Alex’s head.

  And then there was nothing. It really was as simple as that.

  “You’ve done very well, Mr Stallone.”

  “Yes. This makes up for what happened on Quicksilver…”

  “…at least, in part.”

  Alex woke up to the sound of the Grimaldi brothers talking to a third person. He tried to move. He couldn’t. He was sitting on a chair with his hands tied behind him, the rope so tight that it was cutting into his flesh. There was nothing to be gained by pretending he was still unconscious. He opened his eyes.

  He was in some sort of basement, a laundry area. It was very warm and he could hear the hum of machinery somewhere behind him. The floor was tiled. There were bare pipes running along one of the walls and over his head. As far as he could see, the room had no windows. The Grimaldi brothers were perched on two laundry baskets, talking to the bald man who had knocked him out. They noticed that he had woken up.

  “He’s back with us!” one of them exclaimed.

  “You get everything ready,” the other one said, addressing the bald man. “We’ll talk to him. Then you can deal with him.”

  “I’ll enjoy that.” The bald man – Mr Stallone – rubbed his hands together. He got up and left the room.

  Alex could only sit there as the two brothers turned to him. His head was pounding and there was the taste of blood in his mouth. But more than anything, he was annoyed with himself. He had behaved like a complete amateur, sneaking into this house without any sort of backup, not checking out the security – and eavesdropping through a half-open door. It was the sort of thing he might have done at school! And he had become so absorbed in the conversation that he hadn’t watched his own back. Mrs Jones had been right. Stay away from us. He remembered her warning him to go back home. Well, it was too late for that now.

  He forced himself to focus. He had been searched while he was unconscious. His passport and phone were on a table in front of him. He could see the hole in the passport cover where the poison needle had penetrated. We’ll talk to him. Then you can deal with him. He remembered what one of the brothers had just said. He didn’t like the sound of it.

  “Alex Rider…”

  “…we’re very pleased to meet you at last.”

  Alex examined the brothers closely for the first time. He looked at the black, painted hair, the round heads, the stubble. They reminded him of two ventriloquist’s dolls. They weren’t just identical. They could have been mass-produced. But there was nothing remotely entertaining about them. They were both looking at him with exactly the same expression: a cold and all-consuming hatred.

  “I’m Eduardo,” one of them said. “And this is my brother…”

  “…Giovanni.”

  “You’ve been a real pain in the neck, Alex. I mean, really, thanks to you we’ve had serious problems.”

  They could barely wait for each other to finish. This was something they had wanted to say for a long time and the words poured out.

  “Razim!”

  “Julia Rothman!”

  “Scorpia … the whole organization!”

  “I have to say that, looking at you, I’m frankly surprised,” Eduardo went on. “You’re just a kid…”

  “…and a stupid one at that. Did you really think you could just walk in here? What do you take us for?”

  “But we’re very glad to see you. Really we are.” Eduardo beamed at him. “We need to know who you’re working for, how you found us and what you’re doing here.”

  Giovanni nodded. “Of course, you won’t tell us to begin with. We understand that. I’m sure you’re very brave. So we’ll have to torture you.”

  Eduardo turned to his brother. There was something very unpleasant in his eyes. “Can I go first?”

  “It’s my turn first, Eddie. You went first last time.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did. And you got to kill Dragana Novak this morning. It’s definitely my turn.”

  Alex filed that piece of information away. So the woman on the boat was dead. That was interesting … and it might be useful. “You don’t have to torture me,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

  “Really?” The brothers looked disappointed.

  “I don’t have anything to hide. And I’m not working for anyone. It’s very simple: I’m looking for Jack Starbright.”

  Giovanni and Eduardo exchanged a look. “Is that why you were on Quicksilver?”

  “Yes. She wasn’t there so I came here.”

  As Alex spoke, he was waiting for his head to clear. At the same time he was testing the rope around his wrists. There was always a chance that some sort of opportunity would present itself and he had to be ready to take it. But whoever had tied the rope had done a professional job. It wouldn’t move. He could no longer feel his fingers.

  “You’re lying!” Eduardo scowled. “If you’re not working for anybody, what made you think that Miss Starbright might be with us? And how did you find your way here?”

  Alex knew he had to be careful what answer he gave. The two men probably didn’t know that Jack had managed to send him an email. If they were holding her, and he told them the truth, he might cause her difficulties. “I went back to Siwa,” he said. “I found your name scratched into the wall of her cell.”

  “That’s all very well but what about our address? Was that scratched on the wall too?” This time it was Giovanni who had asked.

  “I was helped by the Egyptian secret service. Colonel Ali Manzour. He knew you were in Saint-Tropez and he’s looking for you now. If anything happens to me he’ll come after you, I promise you.” Alex was carefully mixing fact and fiction. It was the best way to create a believable story. “He sent me here and when I arrived, I checked out all the boats in the harbour. I guessed you might have sailed from Alexandria and I thought one of them might lead me to you. Quicksilver is registered to a company called Draco d’Olivo. It belongs to you.”

  “OK. So you found the boat…”

  “…but how did you find this house?”

  “Dragana told me where you lived. I broke into her cabin and she gave me your address.” This was a complete lie. But Alex knew there was no way they could check it out. Dragana Novak wasn’t going to tell them anything.

  The two brothers thought for a moment, questioning what they had just heard. But they came to the same conclusion at the same time. The story made sense. As much as they might want to hurt him, they had to believe it.

  “Where is Jack?” Alex asked.

  Giovanni glanced at his brother as if asking permission. Eduardo nodded and Giovanni leaned forward and slapped Alex on the side of the head. It wasn’t a hard blow but Alex reeled back and the chair rocked beneath him. “You don’t ask us questions,” he said.

  “You don’t say anything,” Eduardo agreed.

  The two of them gazed at him and, despite everything, Alex understood how they felt. He had defeated Scorpia three times before he had allowed himself to fall into their hands. They had been part of what was supposed to be the greatest criminal organization in the world and he had humiliated them over and over again. He had also followed them from Egypt to France. He had found their superyacht and their home, walking through all their security systems. More humiliation. No wonder they hated him. He waited, uneasily, for what was to come.

  “We’re going to finish this,” Eduardo said. “We’re going to kill you. Scorpia should have done it a long time ago. But we’re going to make you pay.”

  Alex didn’t answer. He was trying to pretend he didn’t care.

  “We could just shoot you,” Giovanni said.

  “We could do it now.”

  “It would be very easy. But we’re not going to do that, are we, E
ddie!”

  Eduardo smiled. “As it happens, Gio and I were brought up in a proper Mafia family. Our father…”

  “…our grandmother…”

  “…she very much liked the old methods. Grandma always used to tell us to respect the old traditions.”

  “Cement shoes,” Giovanni said.

  “I don’t suppose that means anything to you – so let us explain.” Eduardo glanced at his brother as if for approval, then began. “In the old days, the Mafia had a very unusual way of getting rid of their enemies. They would make them sit with their legs in a large bucket. They would fill the bucket with quick-drying cement – and then, when it had set, they would throw them in a river.”

  “They drowned,” Giovanni added, unnecessarily.

  “The whole point was that everyone knew this was a Mafia punishment. There was something about it that caught the imagination. It was such a horrible way to die!”

  “We’re going to do the same to you,” Giovanni said.

  “Yes. It’s a shame we don’t have time for the full works – but fortunately there’s a variation.”

  “Concrete blocks!”

  Eduardo nodded. “Same idea. Same result. But a little easier – and certainly less mess.”

  As if on cue, the door of the basement opened and the bald man came back in, carrying a length of chain. “Everything’s ready,” he said – and Alex was surprised how much venom he managed to inject into his voice.

  “We’re not going to be able to come,” Giovanni said. “We have to leave straight away.”