Crocodile Tears

of him. “This was sent by e-mail,” he said.
    “ Yes.”
    “ And it suggests that this man, Desmond McCain, is engaged in a plot to poison the wheat crop in Kenya for his own financial gain.”
    Blunt blinked heavily. “I’m glad you had time to read it,” he muttered.
    The prime minister ignored the rudeness. He put the paper down. “What makes you believe this information is reliable?” he asked.
    “ We have absolutely no reason to doubt it.”
    “ And yet I understand that this agent of yours, the one who sent the report—which, incidentally, has no fewer than three spelling mistakes—is only fourteen years old.”

    There was a long pause. The two advisers glanced at the prime minister, urging him on.
    “ Alex Rider. Is that his name?” the prime minister asked.
    “ He’s never let us down in the past,” Mrs. Jones cut in. She was carrying a slim leather case, which she opened. She took out a thin file marked TOP SECRET in red letters and handed it across. “These are the details of just four of the assignments he’s undertaken on our behalf,” she continued. “The most recent of them was in Australia.”
    “ Shouldn’t he be in school?”
    “ He called in sick.”
    “ Let me have a look …” The prime minister opened the file and read it in silence. “You certainly seem to have a very high opinion of him,” he remarked. “And let’s say for the sake of argument that it’s justified. Let’s assume that everything that he has told you is true—”
    “ Then by four o’clock this evening, the wheat field will have been activated,” Blunt said. In fact, Alex’s e-mail had crossed two time zones. He had sent it at midday. It had arrived in New Delhi at half past two, Indian time. They had kept it for three hours before they had sent it to MI6 where it arrived at noon, UK time. Four o’clock in England would be seven o’clock in Kenya, and sunset. They had less than three hours in which to act. “The wheat will have been turned into a million doses of ricin,” Blunt went on. “At the same time, the spores that McCain sprayed onto the field will take off and begin to spread across the rest of Kenya. It will settle on the next field and then the one after that. It’s impossible to say how many millions of seeds Greenfields has supplied over the past five years. All we know for sure is that within three months, the entire country will be poisoned.”

    “ We can let McCain know we’re onto him,” Ellis said. “There’s not going to be any charity appeal.
    Once he knows that, there’ll be no point in going ahead.”
    “ I agree.” Blackmore nodded his head, secretly annoyed that he hadn’t spoken first.
    “ We don’t have any way to contact McCain, short of parachuting into Simba River Camp,” Blunt replied. “And anyway, we’re too late. There’s a biological clock that’s already ticking. The damage has been done.”
    “ So what do you suggest?”
    “ We need to speak to the Kenyan government and send in troops. The field has to be neutralized, probably with flamethrowers. And we also have to find Alex Rider. We’ve heard nothing more from him. I want to know he’s safe.”
    Although she didn’t show it, Mrs. Jones was surprised. It was the first time she had ever heard Blunt show any concern for Alex. Even when he had been shot, Blunt’s main concern had been keeping the story out of the newspapers.
    “ I’m not sure that’s possible, Mr. Blunt.” The prime minister shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It might be a bit awkward explaining to the Kenyan authorities that a British citizen has just launched a biochemical attack on their country … and let’s not forget that Greenfields actually receives government funding! Of course, it wasn’t my government that agreed to it, but even so, the political fallout could be appalling. Frankly, the less said the better. And I definitely think we ought to handle the situation ourselves.”
    “ I have an SAS task force on standby,” Blunt said.

    “ It would still take too long to fly them to Africa,” Blackmore said. He glanced at the prime minister, waiting for permission to continue. The prime minister nodded. “But in my view, we can do better than that,” he said. “We have an RAF Phantom squadron in Akrotiri, Cyprus. They’re already fueling. They can be in the air in half an hour.”
    “ And what do you intend to do with them?” Blunt asked.
    “ It’s very simple, Mr. Blunt. We’re