Ark Angel
Who are Force Three? What was it all about?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Well,” Crawley began. “Let’s start with Nikolei Drevin. I suppose you know who he is.”
“I’ve heard of him. He’s a Russian multimillionaire.”
“Born in Russia, yes. But he’s more of a multi-billionaire, as a matter of fact. An absolutely wonderful man.
He lives in England a lot of the time, and he’s made it clear that he likes to think of himself as English.”
“He bought a football club.”
“Stratford East. That’s right. Nobody had ever heard of them but he’s forked out for some of the best players in the world and now they’re in the Premiership. He has a huge place in Oxfordshire, a penthouse near Tower Bridge and houses all over the world. He even has his own island out in the Caribbean.
Flamingo Bay. That’s where the launches take place.”
“Ark Angel,” Alex said.
“Ark Angel is the name of the space hotel that he’s building. It’s being put together piece by piece, and he has to send rockets up every now and then with the next component. You may not know this, Alex, but the British government are partners in the project and it means a great deal to them. The first hotel in space and it’ll be flying a British flag! Ten years from now, commercial space travel will be a reality. In fact, it already is. An American businessman has already gone into outer space. Paid twenty million dollars for the privilege. Once Ark Angel is up and running, more will follow. The most powerful and influential people in the world will be queuing up for tickets, and we’ll be the ones supplying them.”
“Kaspar mentioned outer space,” Alex said. “He didn’t seem too happy about the idea.”
“Kaspar is a fanatic,” Crawley replied. “It’s true that a few wild birds got wiped out on Flamingo Bay when the launch pad was set up. As a matter of fact, there aren’t any flamingos there any more. Friends of the Earth and the World Wildlife Fund got a bit upset about it, but you don’t see them going around murdering people. Force Three’s a different matter.”
“What do you know about them?”
Crawley scowled. “Not a lot. Before this year, nobody had ever heard of them. Then a woman in Germany wrote an article about them in Der Spiegel and a few days later she was shot in the street. The same thing happened in London just over a week ago. A chap by the name of Max Webber denounced them at a conference on international security and got blown up as a result. We’re looking into both deaths right now
—that’s why Mrs Jones is in Berlin. Force Three seems to be something quite new. Eco-terrorists … I suppose that’s what you’d call them. It’s all very alarming.”
“What about Kaspar?”
“Apart from what you’ve told us, we hardly know anything about him.”
“Well, he should be easy enough to catch.” It was something that had puzzled Alex from the start. The tattoos. “With a face like his, you’ll be able to spot him a mile away.”
“At least we know what we’re looking for. As for Drevin, he can take care of himself, I imagine. He’s got plenty of security out on Flamingo Bay. Our real worry is that Force Three might have a crack at Ark Angel.
They’ve already blown up a car manufacturing plant, a research centre and quite a few other installations.
Of course, they’ll have their work cut out. After all, Ark Angel is three hundred miles up in outer space. But none of this is any concern of yours.”
Crawley stood up. “You did a superb job, Alex,” he said. “I’m sure Drevin is enormously grateful. I wouldn’t be surprised if a large cheque didn’t turn up in the post. At the very least, you might get a couple of tickets to see Stratford East play.”
“I don’t want a cheque,” Alex said. “I just want to go home.”
“I hear the doctor says you can leave this evening.” Crawley slid the tape recorder into his pocket. “I’ve stayed long enough,” he said. “Very good to see you, Alex. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
I’m sure we’ll meet again.
Alex remembered the words now as he ate his scrambled eggs. Did Crawley really think he would ever work for MI6 again? If so he was very much mistaken. The strange thing was, he could think of dozens of boys at Brookland School who probably dreamt about being a spy. They’d imagine it would be fun. Alex had discovered the unpleasant reality. He’d been
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