Ark Angel

disgruntled. “So what happened to the Rolls-Royce?” she wondered out loud. But in the end she agreed that Drevin had made the right decision. The last thing either of them wanted was to make a grand entrance.
    They walked into a foyer where everything seemed to be white or made of glass. A young woman was waiting there to greet them.
    “Hi,” she said. “You must be Alex Rider and Jack Starbright. Mr Drevin asked me to look out for you.“ She spoke with an American accent. ”My name’s Tamara Knight. I’m Mr Drevin’s personal assistant.”
    Alex cast an eye over her as they shook hands. Tamara Knight was twenty-five, although she looked much younger. She was not much taller than he was, with light brown hair tied back, and attractive blue eyes.
    Alex felt that the formal business suit and brightly polished leather shoes didn’t suit her. He also wished she’d smile a bit more. She didn’t look at all pleased to see him.
    “Mr Drevin is still tied up with his press conference,” she explained as she led them across the central atrium of the hotel. Silver and glass lifts rose and fell around them, travelling silently on hidden cables. A group of Japanese businessmen walked across the marble floor. “He said you were welcome to look in if you wanted to. Or you can wait for him in his private suite.”
    “I’d like to know what a suite costs here,” Jack muttered.
    Tamara Knight smiled coldly. “It doesn’t cost Mr Drevin anything. He owns the hotel.”

    “Let’s take a look at the press conference,” Alex said.
    “Of course. He’s talking about Ark Angel. I’m sure you’ll find it interesting.”
    She led them up a wide flight of stairs and along a corridor until they came to a pair of smoked glass doors.
    Two large men in suits were guarding this entrance. “We’ll slip in at the back,” Tamara whispered. “Just take a seat. Nobody will notice you.”
    She nodded and one of the men opened the doors.
    Alex went through and found himself in a wide, imposing room with large windows giving a panoramic view of the river. There were about a hundred journalists sitting in rows facing a long table on a platform.
    The words ARK ANGEL had been spelled out in solid steel letters, each one two metres high, and there were photographs of the earth, taken from space, suspended on thin wires. Three people were seated behind the table. One was the minister for science and innovation. The other looked like some sort of civil servant. Alex didn’t recognize him. The man in the middle was Nikolei Drevin.
    Drevin was unimpressive. That was Alex’s first thought. If he’d bumped into him in the street he might have mistaken him for a bank manager or an accountant. Drevin was a serious-looking man in his forties with watery, grey eyes and hair that had once been fair but was now fading to grey. He had bad skin; there was a rash around his chin and neck as if he’d had trouble shaving. All his clothes—his suit, his shirt with its buttoned-down collar, the plain silk tie—looked brand new and expensive. But they did nothing for him. He wore them with as much style as a mannequin in a shop window. Alex noticed a gold watch on one hand. There was a ring made of platinum or white gold on the other.
    Drevin seemed dwarfed by his surroundings. He was physically smaller than the two men who were sharing the platform with him. The minister had been answering a question when Alex came in. Drevin was fidgeting nervously, twisting the ring on his finger. Tamara gestured to a seat and Alex sat down. The minister finished talking and the other man looked around for another question.

    One of the journalists raised a hand. “I understand that Ark Angel is now two months behind schedule and three hundred million dollars over budget,” he said. “I’d like to ask Mr Drevin if he now regrets getting involved.”
    “You are mistaken,” Drevin replied, and at once Alex could hear the accent in his voice. It was more pronounced than his son’s had been. He spoke slowly, accentuating each word. “Ark Angel is actually three hundred million pounds over budget. This is a British project, you must remember.” There was a murmur of laughter around the room. Drevin shrugged. “Some difficulties were to be expected,” he went on. “This is the most ambitious building project of the twenty-first century. A fully functioning hotel in space! But do I regret it? Of course not. What we are talking about is the beginning