Ark Angel

to his knees, his hands outstretched, and for a brief instant he looked just like a keeper seconds after he has let the ball into the back of the net. Then he pitched forward and lay still.
    Two minutes later, the door of the changing room crashed open and a group of security men rushed in.
    There was nothing they could do. Adam Wright was lying on the floor with water all around him. Smoke was rising up beneath his chest, creeping through his armpits.
    The Stratford East captain and England striker had taken his last penalty.
    And the people who had come for him hadn’t missed.

EXPIRY DATE

    The following day, Alex was playing table tennis with Paul Drevin. Once again Paul was beating him. The score was fifteen-eighteen and it was his serve. He fired the ball down the table, trying to put some spin on it. Paul lobbed it back. Alex went for the slam and got it. The ball hit the corner of the table and bounced over Paul’s bat. Sixteen-eighteen. He was in with a chance.
    The two boys were playing in the most extraordinary room Alex had ever been in. It was more than sixty metres long but only six metres wide, an oversized cigar tube with porthole windows running along the whole length. Part of the room was carpeted, with luxurious leather chairs arranged around a coffee table, a drinks cabinet and a widescreen TV. Then there was the games area: complete with table-tennis table, snooker table, PlayStation and gym. Next to it was a small but well-equipped kitchen and, on the other side, closed off, a study area with a library and conference table where Nikolei Drevin was now working.
    And the whole thing was thirty-six thousand feet above the ground.
    Alex and Paul were on their way to America, flying in Drevin’s private 747 which he had adapted to his own needs. Forget cramped seating and microwaved food on plastic trays. The interior of this plane was beyond belief. But for the noise of the engines and the occasional turbulence, it would have been hard for Alex to believe that he was in the air.
    He was glad to be out of England.

    The death of Adam Wright had naturally made the front page of every newspaper. It had also been the lead story in all the news programmes on TV. This time, Alex had not been involved—and for that he had to thank Tamara Knight. She alone knew that he had seen and followed one of the killers at Stamford Bridge, and when the body in the shower had been discovered, she had decided to keep this information to herself.
    As she said to Alex, he’d been through enough. Force Three had already claimed responsibility for the murder, explaining that the footballer had been another victim in their war against Drevin. What difference would it make if Alex was dragged into it once again?
    Tamara was on the plane too, sitting in one of the Leather chairs, reading a book. Alex had glanced at the cover and seen the title. She was reading a history of space travel, obviously preparing herself for the launch that was to take place in just three days’ time. She glanced up briefly as he prepared to take his next serve, then turned a page.
    Alex lost the serve and, two points later, the game. He wondered if they’d reached the coast of Canada yet.
    It had been almost five hours since they had left Heathrow, and even with all the comforts of the 747, he was aware that he was in that strange, empty space, hovering on the edge of the world between two time zones.
    “Are you hungry?” Paul asked him.
    “No thanks,” Alex replied. The plane had a cook and two stewardesses, who had served a brunch of fresh fruit, coffee and croissants just after they had taken off.
    “We can watch a film if you like.”
    “All right.”

    Paul put down his bat and slumped into one of the nearby chairs. “It’s a shame we won’t have more time in New York,” he said. “I really wanted to show it to you. It’s a cool city just to wander around in. And it’s got great shops. I was going to buy a whole load of gear.”
    “How long are we there for?” Alex asked.
    “Dad says just one day. He’s got some people to see—or we’d be going straight to Flamingo Bay.” Paul pressed a button in the arm of his chair and a moment later one of the stewardesses appeared.
    “Can we watch a film?” he asked.
    “Of course.” The stewardess smiled. “I’ll bring you the menu. And would you like something to drink?”
    “I’ll have a Coke. Alex?”
    “No. I’m fine.”
    Alex sat down opposite Paul, avoiding the