Eagle Strike

had faded before. This time he had seen his whole life bend out of shape.
    He couldn‟t stop thinking about Yassen Gregorovich. Two weeks had gone by but he was still waking up in the middle of the night, reliving the final moments on Air Force One. His father had been a contract killer, murdered by the very people who had now taken over his own life. It couldn‟t be true. Yassen must have been lying, trying to wound Alex in revenge for what had happened between them. Alex wanted to believe it. But he had looked into the dying man‟s eyes and had seen no deceit, only a strange sort of tenderness—and a desire for the truth to be known.

    Go to Venice. Find Scorpio. Find your destiny…
    It seemed to Alex that his only destiny was to be lied to and manipulated by adults who cared nothing about him. Should he go to Venice? How would he find Scorpia? For that matter, was Scorpia a person or a place? Alex watched the swans, wishing they could give him an answer.
    But they just drifted on the water, ignoring him.
    A shadow fell across the bench. Alex looked up and felt a fist close tightly inside his stomach.
    Mrs Jones was standing over him. The MI6 agent was dressed in grey silk trousers with a matching jacket that hung down to her knees, almost like a coat. There was a silver pin in her lapel but no other jewellery. It seemed strange for her to be out here, in the sun. He didn‟t want to see her. Along with Alan Blunt, she was the last person Alex wanted to see.
    “May I join you?” she asked.
    “It seems you already have,” Alex said.
    She sat down next to him.
    “Have you been following me?” Alex asked. He wondered how she had known he would be here and it occurred to him that he might have been under round-the-clock surveillance for the past fortnight. It wouldn‟t have surprised him.
    “No. Your friend—Jack Starbright—told me you‟d be here.”
    “I‟m meeting someone.”
    “Not until twelve. Jack came in to see me, Alex. You should have reported to Liverpool Street by now. We need to debrief you.”

    “There‟s no point reporting to Liverpool Street,” Alex said bitterly. “There‟s nothing there, is there? Just a bank.”
    Mrs Jones understood. “That was wrong of us,” she said.
    Alex turned away.
    “I know you don‟t want to talk to me, Alex,” Mrs Jones continued. “Well, you don‟t have to. But will you please just listen?”
    She looked anxiously at him. He said nothing. She went on.
    “It‟s true that we didn‟t believe you when you came to us—and of course we were wrong. We were stupid. But it just seemed so incredible that a man like Damian Cray could be a threat to national security. He was rich and he was eccentric; nevertheless, he was only a pop star with attitude. That was what we thought.
    “But if you think we ignored you completely, Alex, you‟re wrong. Alan and I have different ideas about you. To be honest, if it had been my choice, we‟d never have got you involved in the first place … not even in that business with the Stormbreakers. But that‟s not the issue here.” She took a deep breath. “After you had gone, I decided to take another look at Damian Cray. There wasn‟t a great deal I could do without the right authority, but I had him watched and all his movements were reported back to me.
    “I heard you were at Hyde Park, in that dome when the Gameslayer was launched. I also got a police report on the woman—the journalist—who was killed. It just seemed like an unfortunate coincidence. Then I was told there had been an incident in Paris: a photographer and his assistant killed. Meanwhile Damian Cray was in Holland, and the next thing I knew, the Dutch police were screaming about some sort of high-speed chase in Amsterdam: cars and motorbikes chasing a boy on a bicycle. Of course, I knew it was you. But I still had no idea what was going on.
    “And then your friend, Sabina, disappeared at Whitchurch Hospital. That really got the alarm bells ringing. I know. You‟re probably thinking we were absurdly slow, and you‟re right. But every intelligence service in the world is the same. When they act, they‟re efficient. But often they get started too late.
    “That was the case here. By the time we came to bring you in, you were already with Cray, in Wiltshire. We spoke to your housekeeper, Jack. Then we went straight to his house. But we missed you again and this time we had no idea where you‟d gone. Now we know, of course. Air Force