Eagle Strike

screams were almost drowned out by the clatter of metal against metal. Alex wanted to look away but he found himself fixated, his eyes wide with horror.
    He could barely see the man any more. The coins thundered down. Roper was trying to swat them away, as if they were a swarm of bees. His arms and hands were vaguely visible but his face and body had disappeared. He lashed out with a fist and Alex saw a smear of blood appear on the door—but the toughened glass wouldn‟t break. The coins oozed forward, filling every inch of space. They rose up higher and higher. Roper was invisible now, sealed into the glittering mass.
    If he was still screaming, nothing more could be heard.
    And then, suddenly, it was over. The last coins fell. A grave of eight million quarters. Alex shuddered, trying to imagine what it must have been like to have been trapped inside. How had the American died? Had he been suffocated by the falling coins or crushed by their weight? Alex had no doubt that the man inside was dead. Blood money! Cray‟s sick joke couldn‟t have been more true.

    Cray laughed.
    “That was fun!” he said.
    “Why did you kill him?” The man in the spectacles had spoken for the first time. He had a Dutch accent. His voice was trembling.
    “Because he was careless, Henryk,” Cray replied. “We can‟t make mistakes, not at this late stage. And it‟s not as if I broke any promises. I said I‟d pay him two million dollars, and if you want to open the door and count it, two million dollars is exactly what you‟ll find.”
    “Don‟t open the door!” the man called Henryk gasped.
    “No. I think it would be a bit messy.” Cray smiled. “Well, we‟ve taken care of Roper. We‟ve got the flash drive. We‟re all set to go. So why don‟t we have another drink?”
    Still crouching at the bottom of the stairs, Alex gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to panic.
    Every instinct told him to get up and run, but he knew he had to take care. What he had seen was almost beyond belief—but at least his mission was now clear. He had to get out of the compound, out of Sloterdijk, and back to England. Like it or not, he had to go back to MI6.
    He knew now that he had been right all along and that Damian Cray was both mad and evil. All his posturing—his many charities and his speeches against violence—was precisely that; a façade. He was planning something that he called Eagle Strike, and whatever it was would take place in two days‟ time. It involved a security system and a VIP lounge. Was he going to break into an embassy? It didn‟t matter. Somehow he would make Alan Blunt and Mrs Jones believe him. There was a dead man called Charlie Roper. A connection with the National Security Agency of America. Surely Alex had enough information to persuade them to make an arrest.

    But first he had to get out.
    He turned just in time to see the figure looming above him. It was a guard, coming down the stairs. Alex started to react, but he was too late.
    The guard had seen him. He was carrying a gun. Slowly Alex raised his hands. The guard gestured and Alex stood up, rising above the stair rail. On the other side of the room, Damian Cray saw him. His face lit up with delight.
    “Alex Rider!” he exclaimed. “I was hoping to see you again. What a lovely surprise! Come on over and have a drink—and let me tell you how you‟re going to die.”

PAIN SYNTHESIS

    Yassen has told me all about you,” Cray said.
    “Apparently you worked for MI6. I have to say, that‟s a very novel idea. Are you still working for them now? Did they send you after me?”
    Alex said nothing.
    “If you don‟t answer my questions, I may have to start thinking about doing nasty things to you.
    Or getting Yassen to do them. That‟s what I pay him for. Pins and needles … that sort of thing.”
    “MI6 don‟t know anything,” Yassen said.

    He and Cray were alone in the room with Alex. The guard and the man called Henryk had gone.
    Alex was sitting on the sofa with a glass of chocolate milk that Cray had insisted on pouring for him. Cray was now perched on the piano stool. His legs were crossed and he seemed completely relaxed as he sipped another cocktail.
    “There‟s no way the intelligence services could know anything about us,” Yassen went on. “And if they did, they wouldn‟t have sent Alex.”
    “Then why was he at the Pleasure Dome? Why is he here?” Cray turned to Alex. “I don‟t suppose you‟ve come all this way to get