Ark Angel

arrived in America by now. He was still sorry she had decided not to come with him, and he was worried he had let her down.
    Maybe he should have gone with her.
    His path took him past the double doors of Drevin’s study. Paul had pointed it out earlier but they hadn’t gone in. On an impulse he stopped and looked left and right. The corridor stretched on, empty, in both directions, its black and white tiles giving it the appearance of the world’s longest chessboard. He turned the handle. The door opened. Without quite knowing what he was doing, Alex switched on the light and went in.
    The study was enormous, dominated by a massive glass and steel desk shaped like a crescent moon. The wood floor was partly covered by a Persian rug that must have taken years to weave. Behind the desk were glass doors leading out onto the front lawn. Alex counted four phones on the desk, as well as two computers, a printer, several piles of documents and a series of clocks showing time zones all over the world. There was one small picture of Paul in a silver frame.
    If Alex had hoped that this room would tell him a little more about his host, he was disappointed. Nikolei Drevin was very rich and very powerful—but he didn’t need an oversized desk and a stack of expensive equipment to tell him that. One of the walls was covered with photos and Alex went over to them. This was more like it. He had at least found one tiny chink in the man’s impressive armour. Vanity. The wall was a gallery of celebrities.
    There were photographs of Drevin with pop stars and actors, photographs taken at glitzy parties and de luxe hotels. He showed little emotion in any of them, but even so Alex could tell that he was quietly pleased to be there. Here was Drevin with Tom Cruise, Drevin with Julia Roberts, Drevin chatting to Steven Spielberg on the set of his latest film. He was in Whitehall with the prime minister (who was smiling cheesily) and in Washington with the president of the United States. Here he was shaking hands with the Russian president—Alex was surprised to find himself looking at the bloated face of Boris Kiriyenko. The two of them had met when Alex had been a prisoner on the island of Skeleton Key.
    The pope had given Drevin an audience. So had Nelson Mandela in Cape Town. Some of the pictures had been taken from newspapers, and the headlines told the story of his life in bold, simple statements: DREVIN MOVES TO THE UK
    DREVIN RICHER THAN THE QUEEN
    DREVIN BUILDS £50 MILLION OXFORDSHIRE HOME
    DREVIN BUYS STRATFORD EAST
    This Last headline was accompanied by a photograph of Drevin with Adam Wright, the England striker who had been his first major purchase for his new team. Alex glanced at the other articles.
    DREVIN ANNOUNCES ARK ANGEL PLANS
    DREVIN BUYS WATERFRONT HOTEL
    DREVIN MOVES INTO LONDON PROPERTY MARKET
    There was a movement behind him.
    Nikolei Drevin had come into the study through the French windows. He was still holding his cigar and was examining Alex curiously. “Alex? What are you doing in here?” There was no anger in his voice. He seemed, if anything, just a little perplexed.
    “I’m sorry.” It took Alex a few seconds to find the words. He knew he was trespassing. On the other hand, the door hadn’t been locked. “I was just on my way to bed. I hadn’t been in here and I thought I’d take a look.”
    “This is my private study; I would prefer it if you didn’t come in here.”

    “Of course. I was about to go but then I saw these pictures.” Alex gestured at one of them. “You’ve met the Queen.”
    “Several times, as a matter of fact. She spoke a great deal about her horses. I didn’t find her very interesting.”
    “And Nelson Mandela.”
    “Ah, yes. A great man. He gave me a signed copy of his book.”
    Silence and suspicion hung in the air between them.
    “Well, I’d better go up,” Alex said.
    “Can you find your way?”
    “Yes. Thank you.” Alex smiled. “Goodnight.”
    “Goodnight.”
    Alex was feeling dizzy. His left arm was throbbing.
    He left the study as casually as he could and didn’t stop until he’d reached his own room on the second floor. He sat down heavily on the bed. He knew what he had just seen. But he couldn’t make sense of it.
    The last newspaper cutting had shown Drevin wearing a fluorescent jacket and hard hat, standing outside a derelict building in east London. Alex had recognized it at once and hadn’t needed the banner, stretching out high in the