Eagle Strike

if he was already too late. The bridge had split in half, both sections rising at t he same speed, the gap over the water widening with every second.
    The Smart car was accelerating.
    Alex had no choice.
    Feeling the pain, and knowing that he had reached the last reserves of his strength, Alex pushed down and the bike picked up speed. The car‟s engine was louder now, howling in his ears, but he didn‟t dare look back again. All his energy was focused on the rapidly rising bridge.
    He hit the wooden surface when it was at a forty-five degree slant. Insanely he found himself thinking of some long-forgotten maths lesson at school. A right-angled triangle. He could see it clearly on the board. And he was cycling up its side!

    He wasn‟t going to make it. Every time he pushed down on the pedals it was a little harder, and he was barely halfway up the slope. He could see the gap—huge now—and the dark, cold water below. The car was right behind him. It was so close he could hear nothing apart from its engine, and the smell of petrol filled his nostrils. He pedalled one last time—and at the same moment pressed the red button in the bell: the ejector seat. There was a soft explosion right below him.
    The saddle had rocketed off the bike, propelled by compressed air or some sort of ingenious hydraulic system. Alex shot into the air, over his side of the bridge, over the gap and then down onto the other side, rolling over and over as he tumbled all the way down. As he spun round, he saw the Smart car. Incredibly, it had tried to follow him. It was suspended in mid-air between the two halves of the bridge. He could see the driver‟s face, the open eyes, the gritted teeth. Then the car plunged down. There was a great splash and it sank at once beneath the black surface of the canal.
    Alex got painfully to his feet. The saddle was lying next to him and he picked it up. There was a message underneath. He wouldn‟t have been able to read it while the saddle was attached to the frame. If you can read this, you owe me a new bike . Smithers had a warped sense of humour.
    Carrying the saddle, Alex began to limp back to the hotel. He was too tired to smile.

EMERGENCY MEASURES

    It was five o‟clock when Alex arrived at London‟s City Airport, the end of a long, frustrating day that had seen him travelling by road and by air across three countries. He and Jack had taken the bus from Amsterdam to Antwerp, arriving just too late for the lunchtime flight. They had killed three hours at the airport, finally boarding an old-fashioned Fokker 50 that seemed to take for ever crossing over to England. Alex wondered now if he had wasted too much time avoiding Damian Cray. A whole day had gone. But at least the airport was on the right side of London, not too far from Liverpool Street and the offices of MI6.
    Alex intended to take the flash drive straight to Alan Blunt. He would have telephoned ahead but he couldn‟t be sure that Blunt would even take the call. One thing was certain. He wouldn‟t feel safe until he had handed over the device. Once MI6 had it in their hands, he would be able to relax.
    That was his plan—but everything changed as he stepped into the arrivals hall. There was a woman sitting at a coffee bar reading the evening newspaper. The front page was open. It was almost as if it had been put there for Alex to see. A photograph of Sabina. And a headline: Schoolgirl Disappears from Hospital
    “This way,” Jack was saying. “We can get a cab.”
    “Jack!”
    Jack saw the look on his face and followed his eyes to the newspaper. Without saying another word, she hurried into the airport‟s only shop and bought a copy for herself.
    There wasn‟t very much to the story—but at this stage there wasn‟t a lot to tell. A fifteen-year-old schoolgirl from south London had been visiting her father at Whitchurch Hospital that morning. He had recently been injured in a terrorist incident in the South of France. Inexplicably she had never reached the ward, but instead had vanished into thin air. The police were urging any witnesses to come forward. Her mother had already made a television appeal for Sabina to come home.
    “It‟s Cray,” Alex said. His voice was empty. “He‟s got her.”
    “Oh God, Alex.” Jack sounded as wretched as he felt. “He‟s done this to get the flash drive. We should have thought…”
    “There was no way we could have expected this. How did he even know she was my friend?”
    Alex