Ark Angel

sense of misgiving. If Drevin knew that the Americans were on their way, his first thought would be to save his own skin. Shulsky and his men had rushed off without stopping to think. They should have disabled the seaplane first.
    Alex looked around, searching for a weapon or anything he could use to do the job himself. But the Americans had taken everything and he had no doubt that the Gatling guns would be locked in their mounting positions. What else? Nothing. Just the two canoes sitting peacefully beside the jetty, the waterskiing equipment, and a pelican watching him from a distant wooden post.
    The silence was broken by a rattle of machine-gun fire and the pelican took off in fright. It had begun. Alex listened as the shooting intensified. There was an explosion and a column of flame rose up briefly above the trees. A movement caught his eye. A buggy was racing along the track. Alex glimpsed it between the palm trees. Then it broke out into the open and he froze. The buggy was being driven by Nikolei Drevin.
    He was alone.
    Alex assumed Drevin would make for the seaplane, but he continued to the house. Maybe there was a safe there. Maybe he needed to pick up a few last things. Or perhaps he’d come back for Paul. Alex tried to work out what to do. He wished more than ever that Shulsky had taken him with him—or at least left one of his men behind.

    Five minutes later, he approached the house.
    Alex knew he was making a mistake, but he had to see for himself what Drevin was doing. Anyway, it was against his nature to sit there, skulking away in an American boat while the fighting continued all around him. He could smell burning. Black smoke was drifting across the forest. There was more gunfire. Alex hurried across the hot sand, knowing that he had arrived at the endgame. The last moves were about to be played.
    He reached the side of the building and pressed himself against the wall, keeping out of sight. The terrace where he had eaten breakfast with Drevin and Paul was directly above him. A wooden staircase curved up from the beach and Alex was just considering whether he could risk climbing it to look in through the window, when Drevin appeared round the side of the house, an attaché case in one hand, an automatic pistol in the other.
    He saw Alex and stopped. “Alex Rider!” he exclaimed. His eyes were curiously empty. In the last few hours he seemed to have shrunk. “Why did you come back?”
    Alex shrugged. “I forgot to say thanks for having me.”
    “I am glad to see you one last time. I wonder what it was that brought you and me together. Was it fate?
    Was it destiny?”
    “I think it was Alan Blunt.”
    “MI6? Well, they’ve failed. Gabriel 7 will reach Ark Angel; it can’t be stopped. The bomb will explode and Washington will be destroyed, along with all the evidence against me.”

    “They don’t need any evidence against you now,” Alex said. “They all know you’re mad.”
    “Yes. It will be necessary for me to disappear. But it will be easy. A man with my wealth, with my contacts…”
    “The world’s too small for someone like you to hide.”
    “We’ll see.” Drevin raised the gun. “But one thing is certain. We won’t meet again.”
    He fired.
    Alex had been ready for it. He dived down onto the sand. He felt the first hail of bullets pass centimetres over his head—and knew there was no way he could avoid the second.
    Drevin groaned.
    It was the most terrible sound Alex had ever heard, an animal cry that seemed to come from the very depths of the man’s soul. He looked up, brushing sand out of his eyes. He saw Drevin standing there, quite limp, his eyes staring. Then he looked behind him.
    Paul Drevin had come out of the house. He must have heard them talking, and walked round the side of the building just as Drevin had fired. Alex had dived out of the way but Paul hadn’t been so lucky. He had taken the full impact of the bullets, and he was lying on his back, arms and legs spread wide, blood soaking into the sand.
    “You…!” Drevin screamed the single word. Then he began to babble. Not in English but Russian. His face was white, twisted in pain and hatred. Tears were seeping out of the corners of his eyes. He pointed the gun at Alex once more. But this time Alex was ready for him.
    Before Drevin could pull the trigger, Alex began to roll, spinning over and over, propelling himself towards the house. Bullets kicked up the sand, then slammed into the nearest