Ark Angel

had any doubts that it was he and Tamara who were being targeted, they were dispelled a few seconds later. Four more buggies had come racing out of the rain. They slid to a halt, facing him, their headlights dazzling him. A dozen black shadows came tumbling out and took up positions around them.
    Next to him Tamara tensed, then sprang into action, drawing her gun. There was a single shot, fired from one of the buggies. Tamara cried out. Her gun spun away. Blood began to seep from a wound in her shoulder, spreading rapidly down her sleeve.
    “That was your last warning!” the voice boomed. “Stand up and move slowly forward. If you resist, you will be shot.”
    How had they been found? Alex thought back and remembered Tamara stumbling. A tripwire. That had to be it. As they had run, she had triggered an alarm.
    Magnus Payne pushed his way through the line of guards. The four members of Force Three followed. The whole area had been empty only minutes before; now it was swarming. Tamara was clutching her wounded shoulder. Alex stood next to her, sick at heart.
    And then Nikolei Drevin appeared, dressed in a light raincoat and—bizarrely—holding a brightly coloured golfing umbrella that shielded him from the downpour. He seemed relaxed, as if he’d simply decided to go for a late-night stroll. He stood in front of Alex and Tamara. There was very little emotion in his face.
    “Miss Knight,” he said, and although he spoke softly, the words carried even above the sound of the rain.
    “I always did have my doubts about you. Or rather, I suspected that the CIA would try to infiltrate my operation, and you seemed the most likely choice. How very sad I am to have my fears confirmed.”
    “The boy…” Magnus Payne had reached Drevin’s side.
    “Yes. It seems your man didn’t quite finish the job.” Drevin stepped forward until he was centimetres away from Alex. Alex didn’t flinch; rain streamed down his face. “Tell me, Alex,” Drevin asked. “I’d be interested to know who you’re working for. Is it MI6 or the CIA? Or perhaps both?”
    “Go to hell,” Alex replied quietly.

    “I’m truly sorry that you chose to make yourself my enemy,” Drevin continued. “I liked you from the start.
    So did Paul. But you have abused my hospitality, Alex. A great mistake.”
    Alex was silent. Next to him Tamara had gone very pale. She had one hand clamped over her wound and was obviously in pain. But she was still defiant. “The CIA know we’re here, Drevin,” she said. “You do anything to us, they’re going to be crawling all over you. You’re not getting away; you’ve got nowhere to go.”
    “Whatever made you think I was planning to go anywhere?” Drevin retorted. “Lock the girl up,” he ordered. “I don’t want to see her again. Magnus—bring Alex Rider to the main hangar. I want to talk to him.”
    Drevin turned and walked away. It only took three paces and he had disappeared into the rain.

PRIMARY TARGET

    The main hangar was huge. Perhaps this was where the Cessna was kept when it wasn’t in use. The roof was a great curve of corrugated iron. One wall slid back to allow access to the launch site. There were various pieces of machinery and a few oil drums scattered around, but otherwise the hangar was bare. Alex was tied to a wooden chair. Drevin was sitting opposite; Magnus Payne was standing beside him. Combat Jacket, Silver Tooth, Spectacles and Steel Watch were grouped together a short distance away. They had been invited to the party but it was clear that Drevin didn’t expect them to join in.

    The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started. Alex could hear the water stilt gurgling in the gutters and there were a few last drops pattering on the roof. The air in the hangar was warm and damp. He was soaked. Payne had used a length of electrical wire to bind him to the chair and it was cutting into his flesh.
    His hands and feet were numb.
    Drevin was wearing a light blue cashmere jersey and cords. He was relaxed, holding a giant brandy glass in one hand, two centimetres of pale golden liquid forming a perfect circle in the bottom. He raised it to his nose and sniffed appreciatively.
    “This is a Louis XIII cognac,” he said. “It’s thirty years old. A single bottle costs more than a thousand pounds. It’s the only cognac I drink.”
    “I knew you were rich,” Alex said. “I also knew you were greedy. But I didn’t know you were boring as well.”
    “There are five men