Point Blank

breathing heavily, her huge muscles rising and falling. Mrs. Stellenbosch had a facial structure that wasn’t quite human, with lips curving out far in front of her nose and wisps of bright ginger hair hanging over a high-domed forehead.
    She was holding a glass filled with some milky green liquid. Her fingers were thick and stubby.
    She had to be careful not to break the glass.
    She sipped her drink, then frowned. ‚Are you sure we’re ready?‛ she asked.
    ‚We have no choice in the matter. We have had two unsatisfactory results in the last few months. First Ivanov. Then Roscoe in New York. Quite apart from the expense of arranging the terminations, it’s possible that someone may have connected the two deaths.‛
    ‚Possible, but unlikely,‛ Mrs. Stellenbosch said.
    ‚The intelligence services are idle and inefficient, it is true. The CIA in America. MI6 in England. Even the KGB. They’re all shadows of what they used to be. But even so, there’s always the chance that one of them might have accidentally stumbled onto something. The sooner we end this phase of the operation, the more chance we have of remaining unnoticed.‛
    Dr. Grief brought his hands together and rested his chin on his fingers. ‚When is the final boy arriving?‛ he asked.
    ‚Alex?‛ Mrs. Stellenbosch sipped from her cup and set it down. She opened her handbag and took out a handkerchief, which she used to wipe her lips. ‚I am traveling to England tomorrow,‛ she said.
    ‚Excellent. You’ll take the boy to Paris on the way here?‛
    ‚Of course, Doctor. If that’s what you wish.‛
    ‚It is very much what I wish. We can do all the preliminary work there. It will save time.
    What about the Sprintz boy?‛
    ‚I’m afraid we still need another few days.‛
    ‚That means that he and Alex will be here at the same time.‛
    ‚Yes.‛
    Dr. Grief considered. He had to balance the risk of the two boys meeting against the dangers of moving too fast. It was fortunate that he had a scientific mind. His calculations were never wrong. ‚Very well,‛ he said. ‚The Sprintz boy can stay with us for another few days. I sense he is growing restless, and a new friend might put his mind at ease.‛
    Mrs. Stellenbosch nodded. She lifted her glass and emptied its contents, the veins in her neck throbbing as she swallowed.
    ‚Alex Friend is an excellent catch for us,‛ Dr. Grief said.
    ‚Supermarkets?‛ The woman sounded unconvinced.
    ‚His father has the prime minister’s ear. He is an impressive man. His son, I am sure, will meet up to all our expectations.‛ Dr. Grief smiled. His eyes glowed red. ‚Very soon, we’ll have Alex here, at the academy. And then, at last, the Gemini Project will be complete.‛
    ‚You’re sitting all wrong,‛ Fiona said. ‚Your back isn’t straight. Your hands should be lower. And your feet are pointing the wrong way.‛
    ‚What does it matter, so long as you’re enjoying yourself?‛ Alex asked, speaking through gritted teeth.
    It was the fourth day of his stay at Haverstock Hall, and Fiona had been persuaded to take him out riding. Alex wasn’t enjoying himself at all. First he’d had to endure the inevitable lecture—although he had barely listened. The horses were Iberian or Hungarian. They’d won a bucketful of gold medals. Alex didn’t care. All he knew was that his horse was big and black and attracted flies. And that he was riding it with all the style of a sack of potatoes on a trampoline.
    The two of them had barely mentioned the business in the forest. When Alex had limped back to the house, soaked and freezing, Fiona had politely fetched him a towel and offered him a cup of tea.
    ‚You tried to kill me!‛ Alex said.
    ‚Don’t be silly.‛ Fiona looked at Alex with something like pity in her eyes. ‚We would never do that. Rufus is a very nice boy.‛
    ‚What?‛
    ‚It was just a game, Alex. Just a bit of fun.‛
    And that was it. Fiona had smiled as if everything had been explained and then gone to have a swim. Alex had spent the rest of the evening with the files. He was trying to take in a fake history that spanned fourteen years. There were uncles and aunts, friends at Eton, a whole crowd of people he had to know without ever having met any of them. More than that, he was trying to get the feel of this luxurious lifestyle. That was why he was here now, out riding with Fiona—she upright in her riding jacket and breeches, he bumping along behind.
    They had ridden